miércoles, 17 de julio de 2013

The good girl.

As a girl, you see the world
like a giant candy store...
...filled with sweet candy and such.
But one day you look around and see
a prison. And you're on death row.
You want to run or scream...
...or cry.

Well, you know, everyone has that feeling some time in his life.
The shit comes when you have it every night.

You are staring through the window, looking at the sky and sighing, what the hell am I doing here? It sounds always like a hoarse deep voice in your head.
You might have in front of your eyes a grey wall, cause your room is a crappy place and there's no nice view in it; or you might be looking at the horizon, probably lighted up with the bulbs of hundred cars; or you may be looking into the dark. But it does not really matter, cause all you can really see is the empty, an infinite empty road with nothing written on it, while you keep wondering, what the fucking hell am I doing here?

I guess everyone has the right to feel lost, but we should also have the right to be found, or to found ourselves, somewhere in the road, but soon enough.

Do I need to get stoned? Maybe that would help to see the night with clarity, cause it's no light what I need, but answers, kind of a metaphor.
Why are there light bulbs in the death row? Doesn't the convicted know where he's going? He doesn't need them at all, his fate is written. Are ours?
I certainly feel life like a prison now, at least daily life. There can't be a better description. I have my days planned, set. There are bars in my window when I stare through it in the night, but also during day. I know the door exists, but I just can't reach it, I don't have the strength, I need to get stronger, wiser, older. I can't go to the candy store anymore, cause the calendar is fixed and I have to respect it, cause I'm a good girl.

Respect. Respect yourself, respect your ideals, respect the life? Well, everything seems now like a fool, cause I'm only respecting the rules. And I don't ever remember why I have to do it, and who created them. Maybe it was me, some years ago, when I was in some kind of "stonement", not mature enough to decide, not young enough to move on, not old enough to pass away.
Yes, and right now I just wanna run, and scream, and cry. I'm doing it all at the same time, inside, while the hoarse deep voice keeps asking time and time again, what the fucking hell am I fucking doing here? Well, just waiting, till the lights turn on.

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