Destruction

(image from google)

Self destructing is the thought that runs through her head, especially when she sits in her room pinching her skin, contradicting herself while spilling diamonds to others. She was a timepiece beneath the ocean floor from the sixteenth century, she was backward and forward at the same time. She was the broken hand and the crumbling numbers. She imagined herself in the blank white room, sitting on the sanded canvas with spirals coming out of the expert’s eyes and lightning strikes coming out of their mouth’s. She stares up at the cracked open ceiling almost physically seeing the grown man’s mother upstairs screaming at the top of her lungs. He almost falls through the ceiling and onto her, whispering sweetness in her ears, but he does not, instead his thoughts crawl into her skin repulsively. She turns to her side chanting catch me, catch me, catch me. Hands push her onto the floor and whether it was metaphorically or physically she was numb and six feet under. She was bleeding and no one saw, they never did see. She could not imagine why, she could not sense her blood, but she could feel it pouring out of her as she walked the streets with faceless beings. But she smiled her smile and talked her diamonds and they thought it was okay. She said let me pretend a little while longer, drown my ears from the experts, smile longer, laugh longer. She exuded entirety to everyone but reciprocation was an imagined notion. Love excluded her dictionary, the worrisome, the fearsome sinking thoughts overpowered her. She was the cogs, her time was almost up. Tick tock. Tick tock. Time to self destruct.