[bloody kisses]: 558.Humanism - reality of the human mind.She's So High Above Me

I'm suffocating. Everyone's telling me to breathe but I can't - rather I won't. Breathe - they yell at me. Not them, no now I'm yelling. My voice bites my tongue but it just filters out word by word like a rushing creek.

Stop. Go. Run.
Away, away...

I want to run and run and run until my lungs explode so no one can try to make me breathe. There are no instructions on how to reconstruct a heart, no pump to keep my skin breathing and crawling. There's not even anyone who would press their lips to mine and puff hot breath down my throat if it was needed. Everyone thinks I'm quiet for attention, that I take glee in their saying so.

'Oh poor thing!
'She's insane!
'She's a tragedy!'

But no one wants to let the caged bird sing. They've already soned her out of a tree. Exotic and captured, mentality raptured. Stolen from peace but everyone wants chunk...of me. But I'm not as beautiful as half-hearted imagery insists.

Broken.
Stolen.
Run...

I can't fly, I never could. But sometimes...just every so often when my foot falls mean something true they glide so swiftly enough that I pretend I can fly above the trees...fly.

I want to keep going. But everytime someone calls after me, and reaches for a grasp at my hair, I have to stop and let them...because-

'Oh poor thing!
'She's a tragedy!'
Resonates through my ribs,
an empty cage.

The words...that mean someone might care this time instruct my brain to coax my limbs to turn and reach out...fall into unknown shadows and unfamiliar flesh.

I'll be what you want.
I'll say as you ask.
That I love the way you abuse me.
Because really, you're all the same to me.

So no, there are no instructions to reconstruct a heart, but if you say you can I'll take your hand and instead we'll do open surgery.

There are no instructions to reconstruct a heart,
But should I still find where mine was left?

[12/12/08]