Anxiety

It's those few moments you know,
when you can not fool yourself anymore.
When you wash your face in cold water but
eventually realizes in a moment of despair
that your body don't belong to you anymore.

And the anxiety.
The anxiety, this carpet of inertia that suffocates the skin
and concentrate itself in the blood like a drug.
When I in a mid-sentence realizes
that I just talk and talk about the same things.
(A sudden impulse to cut off my own tongue
and choke myself with my empty phrases.

A kaleidoscope of illusions,
random patterns that claims
to represent the truth.
And when I move in the direction of truth
it all just turns into a lie

Is it just me who don't get this?

And no,
I can not fucking distinguish
whats going to happen,
feelings and memories all the time,
especially not when I talk about the same things all the time.
Talk and talk and eventually melt
into a colorless mess of skin and bile.
A shapeless disgusting lump
where truth and lies joined a long time ago
evaporated
destroyed
and
multiplied
itself.

Tiredness arives as a savior,
let me sleep, just let me sleep
and then wake up again
between ironed sheets
and allow time to go back and stay there.
I am five years old and sitting in a pyjamas in the kitchen
painting rocks with mom's sticky watercolors.
I wipe my fingers on a dry newspapper
and I shiver of satisfaction to paint a big black line
on a fully pure white stone.
Time stands still in this room
and sometimes I return to this place, sit in the kitchen sofa

and so I cry.

Despairing tears that tastes bitter, I cry, tear, pulling the child
who paints rocks
Trying to make her look at me
But she will not
She don't want to because she don't know who I am.
Or she refuses because she knows exactly
who I am.
That I don't have a face or anything to say
opinionless
faceless
The cold water proves it
when it runs down the neck and is absorbed by the fabric of the shirt.

Some animals can see colors that the human eye can't perceive,
I wonder if my eyes changed colour when I realized that
I was the fruit
of a tree with
rotten roots

I wander if anyone saw it

I wonder if

it's just me

who knows the fermented,
sweet earthy smell of decay from my skin, I wonder if

someone is looking through me
right through me

Damn I want someone
who can see right through me

recognizing how transparent I am
who turns the kaleidoscope out of my hands
and let reality
shred my eyes
that looks at me with a gaze filled with condempt
a gaze that makes me grow up,
forces me to walk from the kitchen sofa and out of the door
and run untill the asphalt torn up my feets

A gaze that will not let me get away with a cloned formulation,
a gaze that forces my face to take shape.

You think I am self-pitying
right?
And I don't care to defend myself anymore
Why should I repeat the same words over and over again
when I don't even believe in it myself?
Let me be self-pitying, who the hell cares,
I care!
I am terrified
like the others
that the facade will peel off

And you, you, you
you who thinks so highly of me
and are fashinated of my skin
you say you drown in my eyes
I think you are lying, just like I do,
for yourself and for me
and I am terrified
that you will discover that

cause you said,

that you are afraid to find the truth.

But I,

I am afraid that the truth will find me.