Fragmentations of Feigning Illness
by Pierced By Rain
I'd like to talk about a few things. One thing being empty souls, and the raging fire of the coals that keeps them breathing. I've fell for your silly controls, setting my goals under the soles of my shoes, because that's the only way I don't need to feel the embarrassment of seeing them. Condemn my mind, act as if my actions are in vein and that I've feigned the coming of storms of rain. Because darling, I have my own personal rain cloud. Stand and bow, crowd. Scream and shout. "Be proud that you're able to withstand what you're going through. You're strong," they say. Well, it would only make sense that I can withstand what I can create. Because my problems are of my own making, aching and breaking my forsaken soul. But, who knows, maybe the cloud has mistaken me for someone else? Maybe it's taking its toll and whoever gets drawn from the hat. The moment I saw the cloud all I knew was instant doubt. I don't know who or what to talk about. Why have my emotions drowned out? Or have they dried out? It doesn't matter, neither way makes me any less of a drop out, branching out to some other way out, maybe constisting of an escape, yet I know damn well I've locked that out of the fucking equation. I already explained anywyay, my problems are my own creation. All because of some idiocy of mine, my evasion of the pursuasion of others' thoughts.
You could see my weak spot for miles, as long as I've been distraught. That's not going away for quite some time. However, something that has gone away is you. Forgotten and out of your mind is me and my selfish antics. Doll it up with a bandage, because bandages fix everything. But will they fix my blank canvas? Or can they fix the human equivalent to something so useless? If you can't take a hint, I'm referring to myself.
I'd never had any sort of advantage, and I've refused to manage this non-existent vantage point. I've appointed myself to disappoint, because quite frankly, that's all I'm good at. I'll stay running along this beaten track after I've seen the love of my life slowly crack, and whittle away before my beating heart, and it would not hold back. All these days I've been waiting for you to call back. But in reality, the only comfort I possess is being able to call your phone line and hear the voicemail go off. It's the only time I get to hear your voice anymore. It's such a shame and it's all my fault. You've fooled me once and once again, so that makes two. Now all I'm left is the vacant memory of you. And it's not shame on you, it's shame on me. I guess it's not really three times the charm, it's two. I'm awaiting the call back I never got from you.