My Thoughts Are My Mouth. I Can’t Live Without My Thoughts.

Fri, 04/15/2016 - 23:05 -- sshanur

Tick.

 

The throbbing pain of my mind casts me aside

from a world unknown to me, a world void of boundaries.

I throw my hands over my head, 

cradling my non-existent mind from the extremity of this world

 

A corner without walls welcomes me into its unending lair,

allowing me to peer into a society unfolding.

A society I separated from years ago, but still grieve its unfair loss.

Its missing.

 

 

Tick tock.

 

My bereavement is not personal, just physical.

My nails meld onto the soiled floors of this planet

tainted by the skulls and blood of my own.

I scream, bawl so loud that every one around me throws a grimace,

tells me to stand still, to “Stop.”

But I saw them, those beings underneath the ground

telling me their uncovered secrets, their thoughts. 

Why they were killed, because they were out of their minds, their thoughts.

 

I know you didn’t see them. But really…. “Stop.”

 

 

Tick Tock. Tick Tock.

 

I can’t seem to distinguish my body from my surroundings 

because there are no such things as “surroundings” in my world.

It is only you, me, and my imaginations.

Nothing else exists, 

except the gray back drop—a canvas that throbs with music and sounds.

But I can’t see the sounds, or even take them to heart.

 

Believe me, when I say that my mind, tunneled vision maybe, is my only window

to a world limited by my ostensible disability.

This world is unreal. Scary even. Oppressive.

But my thoughts transcend this life, these boundaries.

 

 

Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick Talk.

 

I stare at my non existent legs, cracked skull, lame mouth.

“Lame” “Lame” they call me. “A girl without words has no thought.”

Well, be it so, but my mute lips and slow mind proclaim much more

than meaningless words in an empty note.

Or the meaningless words in your hate speech

Or your meaningless words of peace.

 

My words. My mind imagines time crashing down

where I am not restrained by physical laws 

or the expectations of this world—your world.

 

Tick.

 

On this bed,

I stare up at the familiar ceiling and dream.

Dream that my feet grow back

my hands develop

my tongue move

 

But as of now,

I try to listen to the ticking clock behind me

counting the days till my thoughts lift me off of this bed and

help me dream my body frolicking till death. 

I can’t live without my mind and my thoughts because,

quite frankly, they are my only salvation,

my only way to talk.

 

 

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