This seems like it used to be an outlet. Now, not so much. Over time, I feel as though Here Lies got its own personality. And I think it started to clash with mine, honestly. Moreover, I have, frankly, had no desire to talk about the events of my life in metaphor. Don't take that in a pathetic way, Nothing mentionable has been happening. And I mean that in nothing absolutely mentionable, nor positively unmentionable has been happening. Lord knows I like to blog about my various unmentionables.
But things are solidly simple. Pretty plateau, bland. The highlights of my day are delusional outlooks on the future, and daydreams. I dig my routine, and a few times a week breaking it, just because. I've gotten really into taking vitamins. But I feel like the make me smell less like a human, and more like a vegetable. And as my logic goes, this is why I have become undesirable to humans. Perhaps if I took shark cartilage (I wouldn't, sharkys are pretty badass and are animals) I would appeal to a more aggressive, outgoing crowd? Right now, I think I attract earthworms and barnacles. Simple, monochromatic, earthly little things.
Slumpin'. I feel like a metric ton. I even wrote a poem about it. I think it'd make a better song.
The Metric Tons.
I swallowed and anvil,
and since I used to be bulimic,
(I'm recovered now),
I can't throw this up.
And it's so heavy,
it makes me spin
and sweat
and remember
When my tons slumped into the couch
after hinting
on the bleachers at the big game
or the lockers
before the sock hop and milkshakes.
Would you like to dance?
And hold my hand?
Though, I know your calendar
is tighter than my stockings,
just say okay,
write me in
and throw it away.
And slide me another anvil
with some silence to apologize
for a fortnight.
While I spin, sweat, and salivate
some more...
Catch it all in a colander
and drain it atop
The Frozen Lake
and observe it freeze and adhere
to all my other discarded times,
and collect data of my tons.
Dreaming about my real identity,
Rhinoceros Girl.
