Does anybody really know who they are?
Does anybody know what they really want?
Sometimes I think it'd be easier- No.
Sometimes I think it'd feel better- No.
Some times I think the only option- No.
Sometimes I think it would feel better to be a mirror.
No. Not a mirror. A sponge that soaks it all in.
Not a sponge. You got it wrong again. Do you even know what you want?
Some times I feel like a pair of lungs. Breathing in and incorporating what ever is in the air. Consume any atmosphere, ride any high. Make yourself part of any wild night- breathe it in until you almost sound like one of them.
Because when it's in the air you can convince yourself of anything. Not that you'd say it with conviction, but you want to sound like it. You want to hear your voice cry out with the rest. And by the end you'll nearly believe it.
Sometimes it feels like the only option. Or at least, the best one. You don't know what you'd do if they left- you don't know what you'd do if you lost either side. But if both options are torture maybe you pick the torture that feels a little more exciting? Or at least the one where the misery doesn't last as long.
But then you take a breath of something else, somewhere else, and you're different again. Comfortable, silly, light-hearted, talking about creatures and games and things that weigh so much less. Warmth even where there is no lightning.
Or you take a breath somewhere else- stress and tension and business as voices battle over each other to be heard and you just want any of them to stop and listen to you for a fucking second- just like they want you to do.
Take a different breath, different air- now you're an entity moving in a crowd. A piece of a place so much larger. A dancer on a battlefield, gambling hands of charm to people you will never meet again. A compliment in a room full of flirting voices and flying fists.
What do you breathe when you are alone? Is that the closest to what you want? That thing that wanders empty streets, rail road tracks, listening for voices and dancing to music no one else can hear?
Paving your way down midnight streets and back alleys as the night stretches on later and later, almost praying for something to test your immortality- to pop this bubble of invincibility that's formed around you in this almost-almost-comfortable time?
Not that they ever do. Your voice and footsteps echo down empty streets, empty walls, no one around to hear you.
Reflect the graffiti coating the walls. Absorb the music that spills through the halls. Breathe in the smoke that fills the air- it's better when there is no-one else there.
Looking for something you don't think you'll find. Wondering if you've left it behind. Praying you'll ever know what you want- wondering how much of it is just a front.
All of it feels real as anything else. Fresh air, stale air, bleed together. When you're starving, any morsel tastes like a banquet. Echoing words and lyrics back into my mind- crosshatched graphite in an empty street.
It gets so, so hard to ever tell the difference.
amandla
areudirty
titsay
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
2087
vaporwave
ellievsbear
turnnoffyourmind
stormborns
