Dont you just wanna set fire to shit sometimes...'
'I do.
But. Even if I get to play the flute while my city burns, it'll never be enough. I'll always want more. More. More.'
Numbness. It's hard to write about some diseases while you're sick especially when you can't really put a finger on what's actually wrong with you.
For the longest time, I've coupled and interchanged the words numbness and depression. I've used one when I've felt the other and I've thought them to be the same thing.
However, where old age gives you a few gray hairs on your head and wrinkles on your face, it also gives you a precious little gift, which, if you can realise it, becomes one of your greatest allies in helping you understand this place we call planet earth. The gift being experience, I think the only reason I can distinguish between numbness and depression is because of it.
The most artistic thing about numbness is that she comes at you like a lover long lost but not quite forgot. I don't think that anyone can pinpoint the exact location from where this favorite demon enters ones body. All I know is that one day you wake up or, hell, one moment you pass through a door or look out a window or just take a deep breath and suddenly, you're not who you were before you went to sleep, a moment ago, before you passed through that door, before you took that damned breath.
All you know is that your limbs are weighed down with invisible weights, your veins are full of tar, there's an ocean in your mind where there's a constant storm with the waves crashing against your ears, filling them with their boom until you can't hear or comprehend anything else and you bloody well like it that way!
It's like a warm bath, pulling you under but for some reason, you decide to fight back. But numbness doesn't let go so easily. She likes you, she's made a home in you, she knows what makes you tick and she doesn't mind you ticking, not at all. Just don't tick too much. Keep it slow, dance a perverted little waltz with her. Fall asleep in her arms....
But somewhere inside you, where that suffocated little clock is ticking probably, you start to scream. Somewhere, it's still hurting. The best thing about numbness is the security that you don't need to feel. You needn't be happy. You needn't be sad. You can look nonchalantly as someone who you once cared for leaves you. Jokes aren't funny, just amusing. Baths aren't hot, just lukewarm. The winter rain isn't cold, just cool. You aren't hungry, just.. It's something to do.. You can work.. But heaven knows what you did at work.
There's a haze in front of your eyes, you can look but you can't see. You can hear his lips moving but what was it that he just said? Did he say goodbye? Days pass, one mixed up with the next, all tainted in the gray trademark hue of numbness..
But when it's all over, when the building's little more than a smouldering wreck, something flickers. You reach for the sharpest object you can find just to prick yourself. You can't be dead if you're still bleeding, right? I don't know... You drink the hottest of broths, chew ice chips, burning your throat raw, tearing your gums just to feel something that cuts the numbness. Something to slice through the haze but even though all this shit used to work once, now it all just seems to bounce off the invisible shield that somehow erected itself around you.
I don't know how to conclude this because I don't know why I wake up somedays , pinching myself to feel something, anything, even pain if it makes me feel alive, why I turn up the music so loud just to hear something over the crashing of the waves or why somedays my brain is so alert that I can't bear to hear people talk because it hurts too much.
All I know is that I'm comfortably numb and there's a gray haze in my eyes, yet, I can see, another silhouette, like so many others before this, leaving out the door from the corner of my eye and as much as I would like to call for him to stop, I can't find my voice long enough to form a coherent sentence, I can't hear myself over the crashing of the waves and I can't find the words to make him stop...
Yes, I want to set the world on fire... And myself with it...
'I do.
But. Even if I get to play the flute while my city burns, it'll never be enough. I'll always want more. More. More.'
Numbness. It's hard to write about some diseases while you're sick especially when you can't really put a finger on what's actually wrong with you.
For the longest time, I've coupled and interchanged the words numbness and depression. I've used one when I've felt the other and I've thought them to be the same thing.
However, where old age gives you a few gray hairs on your head and wrinkles on your face, it also gives you a precious little gift, which, if you can realise it, becomes one of your greatest allies in helping you understand this place we call planet earth. The gift being experience, I think the only reason I can distinguish between numbness and depression is because of it.
The most artistic thing about numbness is that she comes at you like a lover long lost but not quite forgot. I don't think that anyone can pinpoint the exact location from where this favorite demon enters ones body. All I know is that one day you wake up or, hell, one moment you pass through a door or look out a window or just take a deep breath and suddenly, you're not who you were before you went to sleep, a moment ago, before you passed through that door, before you took that damned breath.
All you know is that your limbs are weighed down with invisible weights, your veins are full of tar, there's an ocean in your mind where there's a constant storm with the waves crashing against your ears, filling them with their boom until you can't hear or comprehend anything else and you bloody well like it that way!
It's like a warm bath, pulling you under but for some reason, you decide to fight back. But numbness doesn't let go so easily. She likes you, she's made a home in you, she knows what makes you tick and she doesn't mind you ticking, not at all. Just don't tick too much. Keep it slow, dance a perverted little waltz with her. Fall asleep in her arms....
But somewhere inside you, where that suffocated little clock is ticking probably, you start to scream. Somewhere, it's still hurting. The best thing about numbness is the security that you don't need to feel. You needn't be happy. You needn't be sad. You can look nonchalantly as someone who you once cared for leaves you. Jokes aren't funny, just amusing. Baths aren't hot, just lukewarm. The winter rain isn't cold, just cool. You aren't hungry, just.. It's something to do.. You can work.. But heaven knows what you did at work.
There's a haze in front of your eyes, you can look but you can't see. You can hear his lips moving but what was it that he just said? Did he say goodbye? Days pass, one mixed up with the next, all tainted in the gray trademark hue of numbness..
But when it's all over, when the building's little more than a smouldering wreck, something flickers. You reach for the sharpest object you can find just to prick yourself. You can't be dead if you're still bleeding, right? I don't know... You drink the hottest of broths, chew ice chips, burning your throat raw, tearing your gums just to feel something that cuts the numbness. Something to slice through the haze but even though all this shit used to work once, now it all just seems to bounce off the invisible shield that somehow erected itself around you.
I don't know how to conclude this because I don't know why I wake up somedays , pinching myself to feel something, anything, even pain if it makes me feel alive, why I turn up the music so loud just to hear something over the crashing of the waves or why somedays my brain is so alert that I can't bear to hear people talk because it hurts too much.
All I know is that I'm comfortably numb and there's a gray haze in my eyes, yet, I can see, another silhouette, like so many others before this, leaving out the door from the corner of my eye and as much as I would like to call for him to stop, I can't find my voice long enough to form a coherent sentence, I can't hear myself over the crashing of the waves and I can't find the words to make him stop...
Yes, I want to set the world on fire... And myself with it...
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