Pisaries Creator

There was a revival of sorts. I was someone mixed up inside. I’m not sure exactly where I could’ve been, in the middle or near the edge. There was a change of heart in the city. I was glad to contribute to the future where I grew up. These generations would be taking care of me when I got much older. My body has been through many changes. Some for the better and some for the worse. My mind seems to have stayed in the same place with slight change to the right or left. I have been known to stay resistant to certain things told to me. There have been many people who have tried to persuade me to the live by their standards. I decided to follow my own because I do not prescribe to those who try to corrupt me by slowly chipping away at my foundation. I will not allow others to rip me apart by their hands or to tear me down with their words. Their need to control is puzzling because they don’t know my strength even though I have shown countless examples. They should’ve known better.

I have traveled to mental places only one conjures up when they are being tortured or want to imagine what it is like to be tortured. Would they survive like I did. Would they be able to walk one foot in front of the other like I do. Would their bodies scurry like a scared mouse to any hole in the wall or behind any appliance to get away from the imaginary danger. Having all your senses is good. It has kept me alive for many years, but there was a time when I wished I didn’t have nerve endings. I would not have cried out in pain. I hardly wanted to sleep that week for fear of being jolted awake. It’s something I can’t forget. They robbed me of so much and still I have the willpower to believe anything is possible.

This is the tricky part of knowing at any moment the tunnel might collapse, the bridge might fall, or the road might break apart and swallow my car whole while trapped inside. The Earth will not spit me up like the bed that sucked in that actor in the first Nightmare movie. The actor lived to see more days but his character did not. This kind of straddling between reality and fantasy is the origin of my existence. I know I exist because my body bleeds and my breath smells foul when I eat garlic. There are times I question the validity of my memories. These moments when silence fills my body and I want to release more pain. The first clue I am telling the truth is my sanity is real. My adult mind would rather not have the burden of owning these ugly, nasty, and shameful thoughts.

The constant need to fill the void when the city feels inadequate is what makes the people masters of procrastination and gifted in self-manipulation. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar. Dishonesty goes a long way when denial and rage hijack your body. I used to believe someone was evaluating me that lived in the skies. This is a lie. There are only days and nights to count. This place I’m in is a mess. I might as well be on the boardgame of Clue. Professor Plum will give me an answer I can hope. Colonel Mustard will take pity on me and invite me into his world for a few minutes. Miss Scarlett will stop smoking and give me a sign I can trust her. I have become such a hater of all men and women. I would like to say I have forgiven those dead to me, but I’m not there.  I don’t expect to be forgiven because I haven’t been in a forgiving mood. The dilemma I find myself in is part of my being, my strength to some, weakness to others, and I’m still searching for more.