On the borders

ocean

We live on the fringes, listening to a mixture of popular and classical music. We live like we want to die tomorrow, or today, or right now. We do not know why some situations recur, with an alarming intensity too. Each day ebbs by, leaving traces that do not have a home, so here they lie, hungry and broken. Each day we fall, fall from such heights that we are certain there is no return. But our mind is a primitive animal, raging, growing, wishing to live instead. Any step we take is never too far to be regarded as dangerous. It’s within acceptable limits set by society. We are the ones who cut our wrists once and still live. We are the ones who fall in love again and again and again, and still pine for that one which lasted just a couple of days because that was heavenly. We are the ones who silently and gently listen to every friend without compromise. Listen. We listen to the world shouting, screaming, laughing, crying, pining… Our own voices smothered by our animalistic mind. The roars inside our head are like magnificent waterfalls, gushing down into the dark depths of the earth, rushing to hide ourselves lest we be discovered and inquisitioned. We fear ourselves, a constant struggle to find ourselves and bury ourselves the minute we realize the momentary truth. What is this momentary truth? What is truth? Something which isn’t a lie? Flimsy she says… Seems like she is right. Flimsy. We are like the tiny purple flowers that grow beneath the luscious red, white and yellow roses. Not a second glance. Temporary. Here today, gone tomorrow. We fill in the gaps, the crevices, we try to hold you’ll together while you fight and battle. Dying everyday, living again. Do we hurt or cry? Hmm… I don’t know. We live in that lukewarm state of helplessness. Not sure what we have to do with these two hands, two feet and this flimsy, depressed as fuck mind. They say they are like us. Nope, we know the reality of our existence, though just ours, at least we know ours. Meant to just be there and not really contribute. Even when we do, it’s safely and quietly ignored. We ain’t blind or deaf or mute. Literally maybe,  but we aren’t that daft. We are that cold draft of wind that sends chills up your spine. Beware. Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha ha. You never see us. Sitting right next to you, listening to your drunk nights and stoned philosophical sessions. Fun times they were he said. We live in the tapes that are forever on rewind, spurting out the truth of the past but silenced in the present. Now we cease to amuse you and therefore we are pushed so far away that we cannot see land. An island we have become, floating on the tears of the world, absorbing the heat of the day and the fears of the night. We have been out there so long that snow has covered us up; humans embedded within the frost; living glaciers. We will float as long as we can. But this is dangerous. Maybe it is. Maybe this is where we were meant to be.

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