I do not think I will go out today.

No, I think I will stay in my bed, simply staying me.

I think to myself that I am expected to go out and live: join the daily thrall and continue with time. But I don’t want to. I will sit atop my covers and look at the life that the inside of my room tells me that I have and wait.

Over on the vanity is fine porcelain, painted down from the perfection that it used to be, yet still elegant and radiant. Alive. The face questions my figure as it beckons me to wear it and venture out to the day. The red of its lips and rust of its lids ask for at least a mellow tone in the crowd, just enough to be seen and alive.

I really just don’t want to.

The allure of the world has no luster for me today. I simply want to stay in my walls and be. Is that so much of a request?

I raise to visit my restroom mirror, behind which I keep my cures for the day. I overdosed on reality the day before, so a dose of silence and perhaps a bit of the fantastic should do me some good today.

Please don’t worry about me. Honestly, I don’t know if you should, but either way you shouldn’t. I’ve made my mind to stay within its walls today, so you won’t be hearing much out there from me. How could anyone accurately measure a ‘day’ in a place like this? But I solemnly promise when the day is done, I will let you know and deal with whatever you might have brought to my steps while I was gone.

Honestly I like it here, you just might have to wait.

Still fucked up

I’ve been working on deconstructing a brick wall for about 3 years now, bit by bit and brick by brick. The rubble is on the floor by my feet, there are various tools strewn around my feet, broken from the abuse against the brick, mingled with the blood from my own hands worked raw in desperation to get the wall down and done.

I am confronted with a paper, an autobiography, asking what my childhood was like and why I would like to be a teacher. After 3 years I try to look over the wall to see what really happened on the other side and find that I can only see the tree tops, barely. I understand what parts of the wall I already took down, I know you have to take apart a wall from the top down, but it still feels like a blow to the stomach to see that all of that work, all of that rubble, all of that blood, sweat, and the tears don’t help in the slightest way with what’s in front of you.