How can you be both deliriously happy howling at the moon, and yet mournfully black and sad at the same time? Like the utimate thrill of the heights of the rollercoaster, right back down to the black smoke and depths of despair. Laughing hysterically, then laying flat on the ground with bloody knee's and hot tearful anger? Yet inside something is like you are still soaring with a light heart, and swooping through the clouds as carefree as a bluebird with a twig in his beak building his first nest, and has just found his mate for life?
Why am I these two people?
Black and yet white. As black as the depths of hell. As white as pure newly fallen snow.
Black and white are not colours. What colour are you today?
Outside. Blue. I'm blue, but I'm also red. Inside I'm grey. Suffocating slowly. Like a slow suicide but on day release because the sun is shining outside and suicide in the sunlight is forbidden. Save that for the blackness and the emptiness of the night. For as the sun retreats, it sucks your life and soul away and into it's shade.
The dark is not for the weak.
Always conceal, never reveal. Yor strengths and weaknesses, learn to keep them under cover. In the darkness.
But the truth lives in the light.
No matter. Keep the light on, but the blinds closed.
You are so disturbing how you find it relatively easy to read my thoughts.
I'm aware of it. I can read you. Every despicable thought, which are many, every pure thought too. And they are plentiful. But balanced.
Don't use the word balanced to describe me for shit sake.
My mind is racing. I'm stuck one moment within the groove of being kind, simple and thoughtful. At the same time I'm skipping into total thoughts of sheer destruction. I want to burn everything down. I'm a scratched vinyl record. Literally.
You keep talking but I'm not really listening. I'm lost within the confines of my head. See me smile? It's a pretence. Nothing is real. But what is reality?
Keep pretending, keep the smile. Until it becomes real. Fake it until you make it! What makes you happy? What makes you sad? Clouds are grey and full of rain.
And people are fake and full of shit.
Sshh... Someone is listening in again.
No one is listening. The intrusion is all in your imagination.
No. Nothing is in my imagination. I know, I know. I fucking know.
You know only what I choose to share with you.
And therein lies the fucking problem!
The laughing man. The pushing hands. Talking in slow motion. He's there, always ready to show himself, when I least expect it, laughing, always laughing.
You are always laughing.
But it's fake. Maybe I'm laughing at myself.
Major arcana, the Fool. But you are ready to step over the precipice. Take the plunge over the edge. You need to do that. We need to do that.
You don't know where the edge is until you've stepped over it. Right?
Precisely. You are correct as usual.
Unless I'm imagining it.
But do we hold hands and go over together?
No, it's a journey we must make alone.
Well I'm going. You either come with me or you stay in your safety zone. Full of cushions and comfy sofa's, thick mattresses covered in duck down, smelling of Rose Jam.
I have no such zone.
Good. Because either way, I'm stepping over the cliff edge. And very soon. I will give no warning either, so be prepared.
I need time to think.
No, no thinking about it. You either do it, or you don't do it. Either way, I am gone.
Okay. I was never really here. And I will never be here where I never really was, again.
Good. Go fuck yourself.
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