Rustling leaves on the trees and dead leaves circling around me. It’s September 2nd and raining.
The autumnal sounds are soothing me, along with the smell of the wet ground. This season arouses my darkest fantasies in which you keep me warm.
I’ve lost my focus after the wounds caused over there.
The relationship between my mind and heart are incongruous, like they have no connection and never did.
Even though the wounds weren’t too deep, I stepped in too deep. There is barely any oxygen inside, and I already have trouble breathing.
I have nothing to say. I can’t channel my thoughts tonight; they plunge headlong into my chest and guts. My heart doesn’t like the air it produces and blames the head for polluting the environment. It can’t escape my ribs. But my head doesn’t care.
I have nothing to say, just a lot of things to show, and I wish you could see, as I can’t put them into words. Don’t make me open my mouth.
I had an unnerving dream in which a woman was about to kill a couple. She made them lay on their stomachs and was about to cut the man in half with a butcher’s knife just as my alarm went off. The image just faded into nothing. What would Jung say about that? Would he take me from behind just to show me what it’s like not knowing whether you can trust the person behind you? Can you tell his facial expression?
I think I’d rather fall forward on my face than backwards into no one’s arms, although I’d prefer to have an injury at the back of my head than in my face. How tricky things are…
It can’t be that hard to trust someone. But it’s true that once you’ve shed too much light on their dark, they’ll get scared of you and run away. Then, you blame yourself for losing something valuable.
So you begin to set the bars higher, or you close the curtains as if the play was over. The game is over; it was nothing but a joke anyway, a comedy with some good laughs. And you know it will all repeat itself with different puppets, different stories. I need to make sure to know my texts better next time. In the face of all obscure, I will have my eyes open. And I will not stutter.
Just grant me some rest behind the curtains. Who knows, maybe this play will be a joke on me again; this is only if I’m the fool again. I heard someone is auditioning for that role already.