Putting on a sliver of sanity between myself and the outside world, sometimes, the powder foundation is never thick enough for that basis alone. I find myself wanting, needing more mascara lashings—the non-fattening comfort facefood. Magic is never too far away at times. Do I indulge in layering it again or should my reasonings hold me back?

Should I?

Per usual, lack time pulls at the tug-of-war with my want for pretense at a little sanity by assuming vanity. Another stab at looking for decent clothes that I could philter as “corporate-looking”, but not too warm and in need of wash. Life is all too indecisive. I’m wearing the same jacket, same trousers, same shoes, same dread.

I hate me.

Heck. The prognosis of a mental bitch had just begun. No matter.

My confident strides from them days turned into tiny totters with what little pain threshold librium I had left. Self-inflicted scars and wounds make their presence felt in little jabs of thorns on my toes I picked and peeled at night.

Each step I take now is denial. Ignoring the pain is an option I took each every step I made. Far from the liberating relief I should be feeling, more dread is in my guts. The dread of looking at life in the face, the pain ugly truth of a face. My stance is not of bravuro. Just simple defiance. I do not wanna believe in those who didn’t.

The boogie man is my shadow.

Yea, I’m not brave. Just ignorant. More stubborn than confident as well. It’s the expounded tenacity of the nagging voices inside my head made out of all the critics. Voices that saps strength of living because they can.

Free speech is cheap talk. Everyone gives their two cents’ worth since no one ever billed them with concrete invoices. It’s all too easy to sit on the couch of a potato critic, sprouting nonsense to everything you know nothing of.

But after a while, it’s no longer painful, this walking on thorny stilts. Numb can be a shade of feeling too.

||For a second of your life
||Tell me that it’s true
||Waiting for a sign
||It’s all I want of you
||Your heart hides a secret
||The promise of what is
||Or something more than this?

||Just a second of your time
||Any one will do
||The taste of any other
||Is all I want from you
||Offer me the world
||And how can I resist
||Something more than this?

||Make-believe in magic
||Make-believe in dreams
||Make-believe in possible
||Nothing as it seems
||To see touch taste smell hear
||But never know if it’s real

————

The Cure– More Than This