Even Reality Is Not Really Real

July 8, 2009
By Alexandra Kahtava GOLD, Lenexa, Kansas
Alexandra Kahtava GOLD, Lenexa, Kansas
13 articles 0 photos 0 comments

I feel it pushing down on me. The constant screaming for explanations of inadequate feelings is just too much to handle. The strangling of my words and sewing of my sins is enough to make me want to vomit. Things are blown out of proportion, then closely examined. I didn't think it worked that way; at least it's not supposed to. Using this formula: One mistake becomes a regret so harsh that it makes you question every choice you ever dared to make. The need for developing your persona soon changes to a desire to be loved. The playful jokes once laughed about become sharp jabs at one another, pointing out imperfections. The crevasse in my soul starts filling up with hate, rather than love. This action makes me a hypocrite. Hiding the peace signs, and making sure that frowns stay upside down are my new hobbies. No longer do you deserve the honor of knowing you caused me pain. Though it may sound like progress is being made, my eyes are slowly closing. I start following the cynics in their footsteps; ignoring the guru's words. I take my peers' words for s***, and my friends words for even less. I search for people who will soon be shoving sharp objects in my back, and take it with gratitude. I laugh at you as you 'stand by me' throughout this. Can you not see that i'm spiraling down? Maybe you want to be able to 'save' me?...That'll be a real scream. Mister, I cannot be saved. If I choose to fall, I fall damn hard. As my intellect grows, as my awareness grows, my caring diminishes. My self preservation heightens. You cannot protect me. I protect myself. I mean what I say, but I do not say what I mean. The want for more, more, more makes me ill with disgust. When will you have enough? I do what I want. I love what I do. Taking love out of quotation marks is a big jump. I can do it. Doesn't mean I will. Doesn't mean I should. Doesn't make it true. Nothing makes it true. Slow moves drawing closer, I welcome them. I return the propositions and think no less of myself. Would you think less of me? Innocent: that is all it is. When does innocence turn to want? When does want turn to need? When does need turn to desire? When is desire fulfilled? Never is definitely not the answer. There comes a time when every past desire is fulfilled; even if you don't recognize it. Every want and aspiration becomes swallowed up by this thing called 'life'. I see you all frown and pull, pull, pull. I laugh and hold; occasionally pushing to see you stumble. The lies are all straight and side by side. I cut them with that nifty knife used to cut glass. It all turns around, twists, bends backwards and begins again. I like it this way. This IS the way...
This IS the end.

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