the smell of stale rice permeating the air of your life. The case of opening a door and the same smell bursts out, whooshing over the space between your fingers, between each strand of hair and it fills, fills your nostrils, seeping into every cell in your body and its murky tendrils creep toward towards your brain.
My ardent pursuer.
When I speak, you turn your back, whistling to the wall.
When you speak, you even expect the friggion' dusts to listen to your shit.
This bubble of acid that you supplied don't hold long, it drips, with absolute potential.
Keep your insults to yourself. I'm tired of smiling while you pull the chair from beneath me.
Everytime I see you, every single wrong done to me, it swirls in confusion and merges like layers into one...you. You were the teacher who hurled words like daggers right in my face. You were the one who pushed me down and ran away skipping and laughing. You were the one who stroked her hand after you struck her down. You were the one smiling smugly expecting your verbal shit to be worshiped.
Goddammit, I'm not Dalai Lama.
Hold back, don't breathe. The stars are strolling onto the platform. my heart on the stage and my mind in the back. I gave way to the current boss. It's all there is, folks, before curtain call, but this heart is a doll and the mind, a puppeteer. Prim, proper heart, coated with the shell of the mind, wanting to burst but hold, hold back. Don't panic. Don't fear. Don't rage.