Gothic-Surrealism

Words of a world, strange though wonderful.

Ordinary World

     Not a mirror in the room, yet I see myself decay. I will no longer tolerate this! Enough is enough and now is the last chance I have before shattering the mirrors you’ve all erected around me. The shards of mirror; hundreds of reflections reveal my schizoid body. Into an icy abyss no more! This ground beneath a schizophrenic no deeper than those who’ve shamed me. I and I alone shame myself. If I could I would brush away all the shards so I can’t see my pretty, conservative self but I’m Gothic! I truly am, this is where my story begins. Those shy and weak-minded may bow down to the purist and be “ordinary,” but that’s just Ludacris! Each shard was an eye looking at me, some of them shut their eyes and waited to be cleared far away and fast. It’s painful despite even the momentary breaks from the real world not just by retreating into my own world.

     How else do I confess these “strange” things within my flesh? To me they’re not so strange yet they hold no ground beyond reality’s threshold. Cold, dark and bare it is beyond. To live I need to live for myself and build that inner strength before my foot eases through the bubble encompassing me. As before, I would ease my foot into the bubble, which swelled at the persistence of my foot. Time here and there it’ll burst out the bubble into the “ordinary world,” in a suffocating rebirth. I barely run nude into the womb of my reality. Then a tear will glissade down my cheek as I see all the familiar faces around watching me go through this debacle. I was born this way, I can’t change that.