Ticking

I feel like a grandfather clock but with age I've started slowing down. My quality is decreasing and the dust is increasing. Everyone around me is obvious to my ticks and how they stopped. I once made everyone including myself smile. Now it is never with a real smile but simply a smirk that lies. They smile, I smile, I lie and everyones happy. Yet I'm still not ticking.

C-o-n-t-r-o-l

When I was younger, I used to constantly spell words out in my head. It was after I failed a spelling test in the fourth that I started. “O-r-a-n-g-e...orange, S-c-h-o-o-l, School.” Like that, every second that my brain was in denial of what was happening around me I would simply start spelling words. Thinking in retrospect it was a coping mechanism I used to deal with my parents divorce and the issues surrounding. I've tried to analyze why spelling words out in my head would help me feel better. Stability and control, when every thing was falling apart the one thing that would never change was the fundamentals of the English language. No one could make me stop spelling those words. I could go on for hours and no one would come upstairs and tell me that the English language was divorcing and that I had to move on. I had control, my brain, my rules, my words. They were going nowhere and no one could take that.

As I got older, things didn't get better. I found out the truth about everything and my world was spinning, faster and faster and without the intent of slowing down. The dark soil of my soul dried into a dusty plain and cracked, my demons we're released.

We think of demons as evil pixie resembling creatures but my demons took the form of words. Repeated in my head over and over again, forming into armies and crushing me. “It's your fault..f-a-u-l-t” “They don't love you, they never did...n-e-v-e-r” “You're ugly, that's why they don't love you...u-g-l-y”

The words of someone else resemble little jabs from a dull knife onto rough skin, the words that you imprint onto yourself are the steel brands that sizzle with touch. The constant ache that you will never get rid of.

I have brands that will never leave but I can only cope, these are the brands that make me who I am today. My demons never left and when things get hard and I've lost all hope they repeat themselves “Failure...f-a-i-l-u...” but I stop. They are nothing but words, I have control. It's my brain, my rules and my words.

My Demons.

I can't watch it! I don't want to watch it but my eyes remain focused. I'm wittnessing the fights, the kisses, the talks, the smiles, the tears, the pages being turned. I'm watching it all but I'm not living it. It's not me that's longing for his arms, it's not me wishing to be complete and it's not me reading the books. It's a girl with long brown hair like me, with dark eyes. With a thin gaunt face, eyes full of life. It's not her life but she's fighting for control, she want's to live with risks. She wants life to be on the dangerous side, she doesn't let people walk all over her. She has eyes that flick to red and she doesn't take no for an answer. She has every thing I could only wish to be. Her only fault is that she isn't me, she doesn't care for others, wish upon stars, smile, and reach for a better goal.

I am me, she can wish to be me. I can wish to be her, it's how we relate. We're different but the same. She's the devil to my angel. We complete each other in a way other's can't see or relate to.