Masquerade / 4 March 2013
Decide what I want, then I change again, too many different things, not one skill to retain. A jack of all trades, master of none, hundreds of ideas flow through, then are gone. Ebbing and flowing unable to swim, the cold dark water seeps into my skin. I want to be a genius but am more a buffoon, too stupid by half to dance to that tune.
Trying hard to be perfect because it feels right, can't attain my ideals so it's all smashed in spite. There's a demon in there I think can I feel, an alien, a foreigner, that's making me ill. I don't know what it wants but I guess it gets fed, from the bottomless residue of self-doubt in my head.
Shouldn't this unlikely life be enough, this beautiful planet, these gifts, this love? Not really you see, I always want more, than I deserve, so try to ignore. Maybe there's something even darker in there, at the back of my mind exposed and bare? It's waiting for me to let down my guard, it wants full control and fighting it's hard. So sometimes I give in, but not for long, as I spiral down I hate what I become.
Up's hard to reach, down's a single word away, self control is always keeping me at bay. So on I plod, a walking stiff, a bundle of bones caught in the rift. Between this life and then the next, tomorrow and forever I'm so perplexed. Can't be swept 'neath the carpet, or chained in the cellar, it's too loud, too strong, a part of this mad fella.
But sometimes I like it, strange as that may seem, but why, you may ask, would I wallow in this stream, yet brushing people off so they don't see, all the parts of me I hide, those hidden parts of me.
Because it makes me ... 'me', and that's all I am, another not-there nobody, masquerading as a man.
Bonk - 4th March 2013