The gazes
I wasn't old when I first noticed them;The peering eyes
from creatures watching me
From underneath, above, inside, out
everywhere, but nowhere to be seen
I remember
covering my breasts in the shower,
Even though I had locked the door a thousand times
and a thousand times more
they could see me anyways,
So I stopped showering.
Just to be sure I mean.
But I soon understood that I still wasn't.
The solution was clarely not to bang my head in the bedpole.
Darkness and ringing of a thousand bells
granted me no serenity of mind
except the comfort of an unconcious hidingplace,
I guess you could say..
But very well; when I woke,
nothing had changed, exept that my head was now hammering of thunder
my mind was if possible even more anxious than ever,
and most importantly; The eyes was still there.
Mocking my lame attempts of leaping to freedom.
They were still there, and they probably still would have been.
I guess I should have left it at that -
Resigned, and let them stare their hearts out,
but it was impossible.
I screamed at them to give me a sign
A word.
Howled to crack the hammering loudness
of complete silence.
Tell me what it is that you see!
It is just to much,
being looked at.
Ef course they said nothing.
The nothingness that tormented me,
was nourishment for them.
and they grew in size, numbers and powers
Until they possessed the whole of my sanity
Its strange; how they changed the world
just by the noble art of staring
God knows I tried to do
whatever I could to stop them from staring.
To make them come out from the dark corners,
and show me that they were there –
and that I was not it.
Crazy I mean.
I clung so hard to this fact of sanity
that at last there was nothing left
to trust in the deceptive world I used to enjoy calling "reality,"
exept the existance of empty, invisible gazes.
They were everywhere, and I knew nothing else could ever again be felt.
At least not with my crippled senses.
I sighed as I refused to grasp the fact:
I didn't even have to be smart to understand
that for me,
it had been just too much
Being looked at.
In retrospective, I see,
that I might have exaggurated
my attempts to silence them a little.
There was much by me that was regrettable.
But than again;
Sometimes there is freedom in being mislead;
at least I didn't have to die alone.
Words by -embla-
Read 749 times
Written on 2007-01-14 at 00:55
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