Mantra
It enjoyed making faces at me. The oddest of ogles and glaring grins. At times, it stayed subdued and perfectly still on the other side of the glass. Other times, The looks were intent and malicious sending cold shocks down my spine. I could never predict what kind of day it would be. I simply hold my breath and offer it a glance before moving on. I know that it would never have two nice days in a row nor would it horrify for many, but that's the most I can expect from this wildly unpredictable it.
It's really inescapable. The thing follows me all around the house through the glasses and mirrors. Toothy grins in the wine, mocking frown on the window. It patronizes me with every surface, but it could be worse. I used to leave the house to escape it, going everywhere I could. Even then, it followed me taking its dangerously angry expression from face to face. The people on the street morphed from stranger to hunter as it stalked on with me. I found it never liked when I left very much and neither did I after that.
Without other option, I locked myself at home and got used to it. It never moved really when I could see it, but somehow it was doing something. I'd wake up in places I wasn't when I went to bed. There'd be claw marks on the walls and blood on my hands. That's the most terrifying thing about the situation, I can't watch what it does. Every night I go to bed facing its expression of choice not knowing what will happen while I sleep.
The next morning I'll wake up and I'll stretch like any other person. I'll walk my way into the bathroom and straight into the shower. Still half asleep, I am not heavily worried about what awaits me. After, I'll step up to the mirror at last and scream to no one. It'll be staring with bulging eyes and my reaction will earn a smile. Then the day will truly begin with a muttered statement of "It's just another face."
Sick
It was something about her voice and the way it made me itch. Each dragged out syllable was on beat with my nails to my skin. Sure she noticed it, but that only made her talk more. She'd ask and she'd ask, "Why scratch, Rico?" but I never answered because I never had anything nice to say. It didn't get quiet though, oh no, she always filled my silence. The whine and bounce of her drawl urged my fingers faster until I broke skin and she sent me out. Every time it went the same direction and I left with the same bloody finger nails. Yesterday was no exception.
We went in cycles of Tuesdays. Each Tuesday came and passed with the clock tick in the voice of my therapist. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Sleep. Repeat. Every single week was the same for me, but not this week. This week, I found a pen just laying in the hallway. One of the doctors might've dropped it from their uptight, ever present clipboards. They looked away for a quick second and it became my pen. My pen in my pocket as they walked me down my hall. It stayed away in that pocket as it became Sunday and still when Sunday became Monday. Then suddenly, it was Tuesday.
The march down to her office had me thinking dead man walking every time. Sometimes, I'd begin to itch before even entering the office. "Why scratch Rico?" The same question as always with the same piercing tone. This time, I thought harder about it. There were other things to be done despite scratching. That was when my pen began to burn in my pocket. Her talking was nauseating, but maybe her screaming would be easier to handle. Only one way to truly find out, wasn't there?
Now, I couldn't say exactly what I did to get over her desk so fast. Her surprise was as great as my own, but only for a blink. In the next blink, there was my pen out of my pocket and into her neck. It took quite a bit of force and a couple tries for it to go in clean. By the time I did manage, she was already screaming and to my pleasure, it wasn't the same horrendous tone she spoke in. I allowed myself that minute of relief to sit and watch as she tried to pull the red soaked pen from her skin.
The urge to itch returned unexpectedly and stronger than ever with her loudly yelled helps and nurse. I scowled angrily at her and yanked the pen away. She was gasping and gushing like I'd expect of a fish, but it wasn't enough. Like every other Tuesday, I began to scratch. By then, nurses were banging on the door as I tore up her face. I'd never scratched so furiously before and it was a vindicating release. When the door flew open we were both a mess and they dragged me away so tightly. Walking down the hall with blood under my nails completed our ritual Tuesday.
Like every other day, I was lead and locked in my room. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Sleep. Repeat, but this time I couldn't sleep. It wasn't long before her blood grew stiff and flaky on my hands. I tried to ignore it yet it was screaming at me. The dried blood was screaming in her clawing, grating voice and I found myself scratching. Scratching at my own skin wasn't the same, it wasn't the release. I wanted to see my therapist and I wanted to scratch at her. They wouldn't let me out, though. They wouldn't listen no matter how loud I screamed.
That was yesterday. Today is Wednesday and I've composed myself. Of course they wouldn't take me back to her. I had to wait for Tuesday and then we would cycle. I found myself anticipating this Tuesday unlike the others before it. It was something about her voice and the way it itched that made me excited to see her. Yesterday was nice in all its quiet red and screaming. I slept and now I'll await step three. Repeat.
Not Me
They aren't blind despite pretending to be
They aren't deaf although they're numb
"It doesn't matter if it doesn't exist"
Just ignore like we do
Pretend till the world explodes
Then pretend you didn't cause it
Trends spread worldwide in a flash
Hashtags with tear stained characters
They were so brave and so loved
A good thing lost to the world but not our fault
It's never our fault no
Just faulty wiring
I can't be this, I can't be that
I victimize the victim's rise
How dare they say I'm wrong
I didn't make anyone do anything
They're jumping to conclusions
While jumping off bridges
Opinions written and spoken in hush
Videos to disprove
Evidence made to make us lose
"It doesn't matter if it doesn't exist"
But then an exchange
Perhaps a change
Bullets for revenge
Bullets for hate
A bullet for color
A bullet for faith
Rainbow vendetta
Red painted walls
Dampened poinsetta
Echoing halls
Not my fault
What could I do
But maybe the hate
Could end with you