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Isolated,
confused and separate,
wanting to implode,
a harmless time bomb ticking away,
the ticking hands audible only to me -
emotional shockwaves through a statue of stone.
A storm known only to me,
a storm of conflicting emotions and thought.
I don’t know who I am, where I belong.
Solitary,
lonely and depressed,
I paint a bleak picture,
and my face remains a blank canvas.
“Give us a smile” –
a small explosion of hate inside,
helping to twist me further.
Suppressing my tears –
emotion given physical form,
remaining apart from everyone,
no one gets close.
No one gets past my wall of steel.
Not having the courage to end it,
to slit my wrists vertically,
to take the pills,
to step in front of the car.
It’s not real, after all.
I don’t really feel this way,
but it doesn’t go away;
this gift of intellectuality – my curse:
above the crowd, yet below it,
I envy the mundane,
with their simple lives.
I play the bitter observer,
all these thoughts so young,
at the age of fifteen.
I missed out on my childhood.
I am the Insomniac Anomaly.
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