Zoning out at Work Vibes

The Mirror

Stop that.

Stop it.

I hate it when you look at me like that.

Your face is easier to read than a goddamn book.

I can see all of your thoughts painted there.

 I know what you think of me

but I tried.

At least I tried.

What have you done?

Other than stare at me like I disgust you?

Is it my anger that you despise?

Because I like to think that's not my fault.

Given enough time, the pain turns into anger, and I have all the time in the world.

So shut up about my anger. I hate it too.

Is it my ambition?

because fuck you.

'Unchecked ambition'.  'No ambition'.

It's the same thing.

I have so much ambition that I don't know where to put it all. 

I don't know what to do with it.

'You leave your art for months, visit it for a week, and abandon it all over again.'

I come back to my art when inspiration hits me harder than I hit myself.

What about you?

What art have you made?

and that fake smile you practice does not count.

'You don't ever seem to want anything.'

I want so much it hurts.

I can't imagine reaching for my dreams.

What if I almost get them?

What if my fingers brush against the tip of a star,

and I fall back to earth.

What if I hit my back so hard I can only gasp for breath that won't come,

while I stare at the things I almost had?

'Almost' is the worst word I know.

Or, worse than failing, what if I get everything I want?

What if it's not what I thought it would be?

What if it is everything I know it can be?

What if I stand in the middle of everything I ever wanted 

and all I can think about is how much I don't deserve it?

Because I know I don't deserve it.

and stop looking at me like that.

Like I just agreed with you.

Like that's what you have been trying to tell me all along.

Go to hell.

At least I wish for something.

A least I want something.

Other than wanting me dead, what have you wished for?

and God, I want silence.

Your glare is so fucking loud.

I can hear you staring holes through me.

If looks could kill, you would be happy.

and the world would finally go silent.

no more screaming.

Is it my sorrow that makes you want to kill me?

Well too bad.

I will continue to grieve.

Not to spite you, but because I can't help it.

Because there is an ocean of words that sits in my throat.

They are dammed by clenched teeth.

They want out. 

I want to let them out.

But they have meaning. too much meaning.

I will not make it past the first two words. 

I will crumble like stone under that sea of words.

The water will drown me.

Words flooding my mouth in an incoherent mess.

saltwater leaking from my eyes uncontrollably.

I know what that moment will look like. Intimately.

I will fall to my knees and it will look, for a moment, like I am praying.

but I am just trying to hold myself together.

next will come the choking.

The gasping.

like I really am drowning as the sobs attack my body.

Then, convulsions. like a seizure.

My whole body will jerk and tremble as I force my lungs to stop breathing.

Force my eyes to close.

clench my jaw so hard my teeth ache.

I, as an adult, will curl myself into a ball on the floor as the pressure mounts behind my eyes.

It will feel like my head could explode at any moment.

I know this sensation. Intimately.

I will clench every muscle in my body until it stops.

Until I can lay still as a statue

and I will wait for the pain to fade from my chest.

I will stay on the floor and pray for any type of darkness to come for me.