by Bryan MejiaLove is absolutely the story of the Tin man from the wizard of Oz, it is the man with no heart, I have no heart in that sense. And we all come as we are. But I met this girl and a scarecrow and a lion. All hoping to get the things whey all wanted and all I could think of was a heart, You know…the bloodiest part of the human body, but I need to apologize if I cut you with my tongue. . I’m good at that. My mouth is Full of springs and they are tarnished in rust But this story leads us to that field of opiates hating the dream that comes with this wanting. You are Bored of the way I talk. this is a last headache. We started to play the blame game, so lets play the blame game... I love you. Or is that the field of opiates talking or did I realize something. Can this desire impersonate time? Because the problem with getting everything you want is getting everything you once wanted Because eventually that lion was caught and caged by a crooked circus and escaped but decided to have to the courage to end his story there That scarecrow knew to leave that field and now knows the horrors of this world. And that girl, she just went back to Kansas We have all given up this adventure for A gust of wind, for courage, a heart held together by staples or paper clips, a brain, books, a grave keeper, or a home, or some other supernatural thing I can only explain through sweet nothings. Maybe it’s been 20 years and the yellow brick road is gone We should have asked for more right? Was that okay? There is a “highway under construction” sign ahead of my heart, as to say we won’t ever be around for its time. Can this love impersonate time? And I'm here, just chopping wood, and as the rust begins to take this body I realize that this love I wanted, this love was anemic. And it’s ironic But I am the tin man. Hacking away with iron. The only things I can see are the people passing by. And the only things I can remember are the details in their eyes And their laughter And I’ve studied it for years. So Where were my friends? Why didn't I just stay here the first time. The only thing I got was that I have a heart now! I have a heart I know that. Because I can feel it breaking. by Lauranna Masters“Addiction,” my psychology professor states, “is an illness, not a failure of an individual.” And I’m thrown down a rabbit hole; Alice on her journey to wonderland. Once again I am arguing with a little white rabbit, named Anxiety, that sits in my occipital lobe Who is always watching me fail He gives me two options to get out of wonderland “Drink me,” he taunts. Telling me that I am trading his company for a bottle of pills I tell him I’d rather the pills than his company “Eat me,” he jeers. Calling me an attention whore I call him a narcissistic ass. “Drink me,” But is this addiction? My desire for the tiny tablets in an orange container The way they make me feel normal and not like my life is defined by a series of highs that could break through any glass ceiling and a series of lows Marianas trench deep in depth. After all, my body struggles through withdrawal when I try to quit them The needle pricks of every touch The vomiting and nausea and headaches and not knowing if I am awake or asleep And if this is all a dream, a hazy memory, or a reality. Is the caterpillar smoking in the corner really there or is it all in my head I crave the quietness that exists once the white rabbit residing in the back of my brain is evicted When I can no longer hear him yelling “off with her head” So maybe I am addicted? “Eat me” Is this my failure as an individual? The way I sought help since Before the little pills in a pretty orange container I was insane, flawed Full of post-shower depression spirals closing my eyes to dream of an eternity of jabberwocks and card soldiers forcing myself to get out of bed because I haven’t eaten for two days simply because the act of making myself a meal is too exhausting, But then I am reminded of the way I laugh with my friends of the way I am able to pour my heart out to strangers on a stage of the way that I pull myself together So did I really need help at all? Am I really just an attention whore? But Alice got it wrong She didn’t have to follow the white rabbit down his hole So I chose path number three where I refuse to make a choice Between how I want to choke on the his poison That I will no longer reside in his wonderland I will no longer humor the rabbit named Anxiety Who dwells beneath my skull I am not an addict, for my drugs are necessary I am not a failure, for I am valid in my illness For Alice, wonderland was just a dream For me, Anxiety is just another nightmare |
AuthorAll our submissions are by different authors. They chose to submit their artwork, but please do not re-post artwork without the permission of the creator. ArchivesCategories
All
|