Act Like Nothing Happened

Am I supposed to laugh, as if nothing's wrong?
Each day passes... as if nothing's wrong.

I've watched more than a dozen performances of this song. That one part always strikes me -- the pause where the music stops, the stage lights go out, and all that's left in the darkness are the shrieks and cries of fans wielding their glowing batons.

Rumor has it that this song was written for his ex, and that he chose his career over her.

I've always wondered what it's like for her to listen to this song, to see it performed like this. The fans clamor for him, outstretched hands flailing for just one touch of his skin, parched throats chanting his name like a prayer. They'd cut him into a million pieces and take him home with them if they could. He couldn't belong only to her, not when there would be millions in the world screaming for his name.

He doesn't sing this song anymore.

morning routine

i woke up in the morning feeling like a wraith that just crawled out of hell. the remains of an acidic digestion, loathsome and shriveled up. i hated myself.

but then, i put on my i-don't-give-a-fuck mask and walked out the door.

people tell me i'm scary sometimes. what they don't realize is that i hide my self-loathing under the spikes and barbed wire.

stillborn

Keeping a smile pasted on my face as my heart stops beating for you -- I had forgotten what this feeling felt like.

It's funny, because all I remember from the day when it happened with you four years ago were the leaves in the sky. The California sky was cloudless and blue. The sunlight made the green tapered leaves look translucent. That's the only image I have of that moment -- a picture so pretty and pristine, while inside, I felt as if my world had just opened up and swallowed me whole.

But I remember that feeling so clearly at this very moment. I had forgotten how it felt, the way your blood seems to curdle in your head and yet you suddenly feel as if your body is not your own. A part of you is really probably trying to escape, because once again, you've just confirmed again that you're an undesirable little fuck passed over for a cute little thing. You're the scrappy doberman nobody at the animal shelter wants to adopt. They don't want the scary one. They want the cute little bichon frise that'll rest her little head on their laps and feed out of the palm of their hand.

The funny thing is, I didn't expect I would experience this feeling ever again. But even though it's not you at the center of this stillborn fantasy this time around, the sickness is just as strong as it was before. Tear off my limbs, sew new parts until I'm not who I am anymore. Give me a new face, a new body, cut me up until I'm unrecognizable. Because sometimes, I don't even recognize myself anymore.