Your clinginess…

Your clinginess follows me like an afterthought. Really bad cologne. A bad song that won’t leave my head. Didn’t used to bother me as much before, but you just had to wave a flag and bring it all out into the open. You ask me about my mood. I don’t say anything because that last stunt did things. It set the world back. You can’t just say things and then wish them back. Believe me, I’ve tried. I send words out the way the Unabomber sent letters out. Okay, not exactly. You are the voice at the séance I wish I wouldn’t hear, but that doesn’t diminish the importance: a ghost tried to communicate. That in itself is more important than your childlike antics. I used to consider a certain childlike quality to sometimes be bait I found palatable, even enticing. But with you it’s attached with the cold rage of a fairy caught in a heterosexuals body that bangs his fist on the table, lashing out at mommy. Oh wait, but you didn’t get to do that during your life. Is it her afterlife that consumes you? So caught up in relishing what enjoyment you can and denying the sights that frighten you.

It’s like people can’t have room for space or themselves because by accepting themself they must be rejecting you. Any time spent alone cannot compare to how you will make them feel because you will do anything they want, anything except leave them alone.

Then there’s the matter of hygene. Pretty key for somebody like me. I spend enough time living in my head, so I really need somebody that takes me out of it. Somebody that dresses well and always smells nice. I’m pretty particular about people close to me. I’ll let a lot of things slide that other people won’t, but then things most people would overlook- it’s like I can’t overlook it. Because if I did you’d be sitting in my blind spot waiting for me to hit you, or worse. That’s just an example.

We’re the ones that need to know what it feels like to be saved before we can rescue everyone else.. Rescue this damned place we don’t know if it’s worth rescuing in the first place. Well, I hope most of us do but think of the future, a future without trees or worse. Although I’m sure there could be synthetic this and DNA-altered that… a place like the Hunger Games where existence is only beauty when entertainment is near, and the entertainment is functional because it stops people from protesting and reminds them of their place.

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Aside | This entry was posted in all that I can't tell them..., bashing, conflict, criticism, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

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