am i your type of girl? (built for a 6 story drop)

I have always lived on the ledge of a building. 

    In 1957 there was a team of scientists who helped work on these atomic bombs but were firmly against the utilization of them. They set a sort of doomsday clock, a metaphorical countdown to how close we are to total nuclear anhiliation. I think I have my own doomsday clock of sorts. From the time I was born I could hear it, ringing in my ears; this ticking, ticking countdown to the end date, ticking to my deadline. I hear it, even now, as I type this out.            Despite all upheavels, changes I make in pursuit of silencing it, it just continues to tick away.

    So I seek comfort in other people, I pray maybe they can silence the noise of it for a time. They do, really, they do manage but when I retreat to my bedroom once more and sit there in the noise I have the same sinking feeling of "there's no stopping me from me". 

    So, as a result of not wanting to spread my inky black heart over others, sinking them into my dark; I simply am not there. I simply am unknown. A performance that began so young that I know of no time before Act I. I've tried closing the curtains to get a breather but then I miss the cheers, the eyes on my every move. As if I'm a being of interest, of grace. I'm too good an actor for my own good. I've considered exiting stage left but I know the devestation I'd cause.

    I no longer exist as anything but a performance, as a character as 2D as any. I have my set lines, my makeup touched up, my costume on point. Nobody even suspects the skin itself is the lie. Even when there's snakes slithering under the suit, sliding and climbing their way up my arms, up my neck and squeezing. 

I am temporary, I am liminal, I am the space between good and bad.

The space between loved and wanted. The space between fiction and fact.

I am a miracle unto myself...

But every miracle runs out eventually

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It's a miracle im still around here

And miracles do run out

One of these outings

One of these days

I won’t be coming back out

You all take me for granted

You take me as I am

Making the false assumption

Of 'what you see is what you have'

I don’t think anyone I’ve ever known

Has known me well and true

Don’t think that they ever will

Don't think they'd want to

What stops it first the timer or will

We’ll see what time unveils

Ticking, ticking time away

Until the countdown fails

I’m tired and ugly

I’m vivid and free

I’m wrung dry of lives

Of everything

I’m not what you’re used to

I'm not what you're used to

I’m not supposed to be

I’m supposed to be a news segment

Tonight 9 o’clock or 3

Knowing that I’m on borrowed time

Set deadlines before I could count

Set deadlines and you’ll find

Your time is perpetually out

I loved you all on that I'm true

Do I even mean half the things I say to you?

Do you care for what I say to you

Sit across at tables, couches and pray to you

This twisted twisted game I play

Something to be examined another day

And another and another and another after that

When will I crack down, when will I go to bat?

Life goals set by a need for survival 

Doesn’t allow for healthy rivals

And reality tv built of plastic

Is bound to make you spiral

Losing not battles but the whole fucking war

Makes you wonder what it is you keep fighting for

Makes you wonder what this was all for

Makes you wonder what you're lying for

And draining and draining and draining away

I wake up in mornings and wish I’d have stayed

I wake up in morning and know it’s a mistake

I wake up in mornings and pray that you’ll take

Someone tell me please that I’m real

Someone prove that I’m not

"Someone! Someone? Someone! Please-"

It's always someone else

Will I ever be enough for me

Will there ever be another

Did anyone I’ve ever loved

Love me any better

Have I known a love that isnt of pity

A love that wasn’t to save

Will I know someone who will wish to help me

In the way I wish to behave

Will I ever be saved or do I have to do it myself

Is it asinine to have this sort of mental health

Living in cupboards in underground dens

Counting tick tick down to 10