Outsider

I don’t know how old I was, when I first became  aware of the bubble.

Crouched in a hollow darkness, I always felt as if I was enclosed in a sphere of shadows. A liquid-like transparent force creating a barrier between me and the rest of the world. In slow motion, I moved within it, out of sync with every one else. Almost matching… almost, but not quite.

personal-bubble

Maybe it was the terror, that harsh violent presence which made me stutter and hesitate, which first created the circular protective barrier. Or maybe it was the cruel indifferent light reflecting off everyone else which first brought it into being. For sure, my awareness of it only strengthened it. My shield. My cage.

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For a time, I believed it had gone. Disappeared with a pop. Finished. For a time, I thought I was here, un-veiled, un-masked, just like everybody else.

Of course, I was wrong.

My bubble is still here. It is dark, dank, comforting. Like an old musty blanket I can clutch around me and slap over my eyes whenever I see something which should not be. I am still here, in a way. But really, I am not. Because I do not want to be. I am not with you. I am not with anyone. And no one is with me. No one looks at me. No one wants to.

In the end, the bubble does not make that much of a difference after all.

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She of the Venomenous Name

Smear it over me, let me bathe in it
Tip my breasts with gobs of scarlet heat
My hands mold and shape cavernous monsters of hatred
My tongue licks it up in a tense explosion of lust

She gnaws at me from the inside
this invisible creature inside my head,
prodding and prying at my weakest spots
scurrying silently in the hard shiny darkness

Always, she is present
eroding away at the maggoty substance of my brain
cheering on the neverending cacophony of shadows
thwarted and twisted by the past

Still, I listen
always unsure whether she be friend or foe
although her words, like twinkling shards, hurt
they are always true after all

She is the ME that can never be forgotten
the ME that can never be forgiven
I have always known her secret name
always been afraid of earning her notice

Her gaze gleams like black oil on a mirror
Grinning teeth smirking at every inconsistency
Paranoid and succulent she awaits for a pause,
a moment, a single excuse to sing her banshee lament

I thank her sometimes, for opening my eyes,
at others I wonder if she merely ripped new ones
hungry for blood she awaits, never sleeping
my Goddess, my lover, my sister in the blood

Elizabeth

© M.M