Insanity

by Emily

Body collapsible, a tent housing a soul, a circus of chaos, I am Chaos, Chaos is I. We are one, one-minded for life, we must encourage life.  Life is worth nothing if it is not lived; we are pirates waiting to unearth our treasure.

We sit in a classroom taught by a teacher who knows
no more than we do: learning about subjects
whose knowledge is entirely dispensable, while the indispensable knowledge is thrown to the wayside, forgotten and trod-upon.
We are all trained to be experts in classes such as
Bullshit 101 and How to get by on the Bare Minimum: by the time we’ve learned those there is no time to teach us to love or listen or think, creativity is punished and subservience insisted upon.

 

 

Life is the best teacher a child can employ; experience.  Touch, taste, feel, hear, but do so silently.  You will learn a lifetime’s worth more by listening than you will by speaking. Silence carries such weight, but Atlas is strong and so are you.  The world is weak and pathetic with the ignorance of so many; the words spoken are feather-light and oppressive, fumes in the air: only the silence carries such gentle weight.

You are so beautiful, a wild soul, sick to death, dying from love or a pitiable lack.

Never pity, darling, no need for it.  There are so many who have it so inexpressibly worse.

It’s not a lack of love she dies from, we must prescribe less loving; she dies from an overabundance of love. She’s fucked herself dry.

That’s not love, that’s fucked up.

Snapping fingers and crackling lights: attention-grabbers both.  Teeth grasp tightly the beauty, refusing to relinquish our world’s shelter.  Such insolence boy, respect is so utterly necessary and has been so completely neglected.

Castle walls tumbling down, years of  inattention exacting their
precious toll upon the façade and interior of the once grand edifice.

Your soul, my darling, will crumble as well, unless you tend to it.  Water it well, as if it were ivy, encourage its reaching growth, but refrain from conferring the tiny fissions ivy leaves bequeath upon its supporter, refrain from allowing absolute anarchy to reign; tighten the reins and the bit; no bucking stallion your essence need be.

 

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