Time keeps moving inexplicably forward,
The hands turn and spin like an arcade game,
I blink and the moon is in the same spot in the sky,
Give me proof I’m growing wiser, tell me the truth,
Those hands are spinning backwards, locking me in,
Mind numbing routines, give me one I want to keep,
Tell me I’m not 21, I won’t fucking believe you.
Sometimes it feels like I’m only alive in the nighttime,
When I can pour gasoline straight into my veins,
And all the screams burst out of me like magma,
Destructive, compulsive, a volatile force of nature,
And I force my body towards the finish line,
Hope so fierce I’m ready to shake out of my skin,
But still praying I’ll never reach it, won’t even get close,
I still don’t know which outcome is more likely.
Stuck in time, stuck in between parallel universes,
Sailing ships to discover the shift into a new dimension,
Where all this shit didn’t happen to me, didn’t happen to anyone,
So I could find myself skipping around with ribbons in my hair,
But I realise that was never me, even before the trauma,
Because I can’t absolve myself of guilt just because I want to,
So perhaps I just don’t want to be myself anymore.
The sun so bright, shining like a spotlight on the wasteland,
Everything I want to keep hidden devoured by the masses,
And it doesn’t even matter, I don’t even matter, never did,
Yet anxiety rips through me like lightning and I close my eyes,
Wait for it to pass, habits that will kill me, habits that sustain me,
Time keeps moving, and I pretend it doesn’t touch me,
Pretend that my heart will beat an infinite amount of beats.
But that still wouldn’t be enough, to overcome this,
And I realise a part of me doesn’t even want to,
Because I’ll let you drag me through every circle of hell
As long as I can be near you, as long as it’s not over.
© Richela Rosales Maroto 2018