phantom pains

i am the curious kind. The kind that listens to everyone, and the kind that wonders -even through all the smoke and mirrors of the words-who you are. what is special about it?

And frankly I'm just scared to death. I just want to be able to talk something out. I can yell at the chapel walls. I am a big snow storm downfall that tries so hard. Over and Over again and it just wont work, so I throw it to the jaws of destiny and everything else that I know is fabricated.

I meditate in this smoke-filled, dry room and pretend it's actually on fire. I want the answers.
but i just fall asleep, and wake up with the idea of beauty in my mind.

alternate space, sounds, sights that bring back the worst memories of my little human life. The air was growing into spring but my body was decaying. living on green tea. white blankets. tracing any pattern with my fingers, never looking up. and fear, fear that my heart had died.
oh god. oh god. but there was no fear of running in the rain with nothing to sheild my feet. I tore myself the rest of the way apart.

But. but i am so happy of what has grown in its place, even though i am aparently scared to death. i am beauty. and the beast.