Conscience Calling

Often the glass shards of my mind, contrive to form kaleidoscopes that blind me.
“No you simply scamper off shit scared in the opposite direction”

I wander aimlessly through memories that are not mine, merely an abstract collage of wishin’ and hopin’ hopefuls. Sing-along-song nonsense that I contrive to make real, by voicing the voices complete with accents and baritones of quasi-characters that I myself have put to canvas.

“Don’t bloody romanticise your perverse fears, don’t make your life out to be a crusade which it isn’t. Life sucks, deal with it”

I play god in a world that lingers in limbo, sometimes real, somewhere fragmented. Often the characters are tangible, people who I interpret in my mind to my taste and converse with on my terms. More often they are not, they are faceless captions waiting for me to complete and edit.

“It isn’t the headline, it’s the bottom line stupid girl”.

All friends, I wish I were friendlier with. All demons I wish I was still scared of. Only so that some manner of emotion could be extorted from my blank, barren existence by another human being, and yet I cannot. They remain others, and I remain practically oblivious to their existence.

“You are so bloody selfish. More than that you are self-involved beyond belief! ‘Real conversations’ scare you, ‘real’ people intimidate you, ‘real’ life choices deflect you. In short anything ‘real’ makes you run. Everyone likes to think they are more mysterious then they are, You are not. Get over it”

My loneliness is a brand unto itself. An overcharged ache, for friends who I can never for the life of me commit to. Foils I can use, when I am tired of seeing my own face and battered reflection, but never souls that I can side with. People who are just that… ‘people’. Why is it that there are no ‘persons’ in my life? Why is it that I find it so colossally hard to commit to another human being, for anything more than a transitory bypass on my ride home, to a book, a movie and an ice cream?

“And whose fault is that? ‘People’ take work sweetie. ‘People’ take preference. ‘People’ take commitment. In short, you’re just too fucking chicken to work on yourself. Too bloody mind-mighty to relocate the ivory tower and move down the ladder to dullsville.”

Am I that scared of emotion, scared enough to invent rather than invert. Are alien thoughts and ideas so threatening to my fragile capacities? Why is it that my entire existence is merely a vendetta to prove some worth, in my being? To constantly counteract that I am not stupid, that I am not ugly, that I am not worth being abandoned and designated to far-off corners, by all.

“Oh boohoo, isn’t my life just ‘so’ tough? Aren’t I just doomed to misery, because of my past? Aren’t I just the oh-so misunderstood waif perpetually lingering in the dark?”

But then again I ‘am’ left. I am in my corner, having already ridden my circuitous path till Kingdom come. Loneliness is not empty, it is safe, it is mine. I finally am King of my capricious castle. Having decorated it with all human emotion sans humanity. I have placed my life in the hands of all things intangible, all the untouchables that touch me.

“ Well, well, well… all hail the conquering spinster”

And then I ask: Why do I pine, why do I perish, why do I placate myself.
Is this not the smart choice?

“ No sweetheart, if you still have to ask….its the only choice”.