Her body was a crypt holding all that should be living but has always been dead.. A glassy tide of serenity fills the emptiness within, the cold never seeming so hard when its all that you know. Upon the outside, those gazing through the mirror of her eyes into her soul seeing only a chaotic reasoning and not the cold emptiness that lies within the never-ending tide of idiosyncrasies. She is normal, though.. Normal is a word whose definition is defined by those who do not perceive to excel at their level of own individuality but calmly stay on the path which might be easy and seemingly happy but is truly meaningless for having denied all things that make you who you are. Normal for 'her' it would best be called for what those Other people see as normal is sorely misguided. She shows the emotions, perhaps to much.. No one knows that her supposed emotions are overdone because she does not understand what it is to feel. An endless pit of darkened insanity writhes within, not uttering one single sound to show it but keeping its icy silence. They say look deep within yourself and you know what it is you should do. You will know what you Feel. An honest confusion will then bubble up, for she will not feel it deep within at least not in a way she can recognize as emotion, and it will pop out of the empty halls of her soul's territory. How do you Know? How? I do not understand. I don’t feel. I will show things that people say is an emotion but I will not feel it. It will just happen. I will just say it.. The blankness is comforting though often isolating. But one must learn a hard lesson in these times is that very few care if you are isolated. And perhaps those that learn this lesson are better off. She has learned this lesson well, blocking out what little childhood she had. An endless void yawning over the expanse of what people said should have been frilly dresses and trips to the park. Instead of barely remembered fights, and incidents hidden from yourself by your own mind to protect what fragile faith in the world you have. And so she floats through life with an innocence that belies everything she remembers doing and everything she doesn’t. A corrupt path of life taunted by the innocence of child and a dreaming quality that drops her into a world of fantasy and magic.
She learns everything that she can, perhaps that it is, she thinks she is nothing? So in an attempt to learn what she is, she learns these different things. Believing foolishly, that is she knows these things she will know what she is. Learning to be evil, is evil when you do not feel in the inside, the remorse does not come. But what if it often causing an extreme amount of guilt for hurting others when you do not feel orgy about it into he first place. Learning to hurt is easy when you do not care, but then in a twisted irony you feel the guilt for not caring. But she canny help, the feeling of happiness, that brief bubble that wells up after having affected their lives. Despite the fact that she broke them, her words being cruel, her actions malicious. Have you over felt that you are lost within the world, an island that steal a metaphor. And that all you wish is that someone actually cared that you are alive, someone actually cared that you walked past them. Do they care, when you pick up their purse, after it falls. Do they care, that you spend your nights burning holes into your flesh with a lighter, just to feel something. No, but they DO care, when you hurt them. All you have to do is make them hurt, and you are suddenly this brilliant life in their life, their selfish world is suddenly thrown upside down because someone has done something to them that they actually care about. So thus she learns to be evil, and then they care. They didn’t care when she was the nicest person in the world, but now as her mind begins to twist and deform, suddenly she has the attention she craves. But why, why does she crave these things? She’s isolated. She should be used to it by now. What if our whole life, is attempting to learn why it is, things are this way. But still hopelessly pleading for it to be another way, because things will not change. Despite the fact you wasted your whole life, trying to understand. The understanding, wont change a thing, it only makes you change your view. Before you understand, you are free to yearn, free to believe in the things that could possibly happen. But as things become clearer, the images in your head fade, and you are left with nothing left to believe in. Perhaps, these things that float through her mind hen no one is there to care, are her insanity. Not the cutting, not the rage, not anything but the whispered words of reasoning she attempts to make herself feel better. Who knows, no one has ever asked her about these things that float through her mind, they have never attempted to find her reasoning, and maybe this is why. She is what she is, the simple fact that she has become them. Them, who do not care about another. And in taking them into her, she became what she hates. Someone who doesn’t care, but this time. This time. Its she who doesn’t care about her. She’s a child in her emotions, temper tantrums over things she doesn’t really care about, just to gain some attention. Attention: a substitute for caring, in a world that no longer cares. She’s a child, in the fact her mind is being manipulated by the constant things she sees around her, her thoughts twisting and deforming to take in what they say. To make their beliefs her own, because she doesn’t know how to make her own. She’s a child very simply, held in a glass mirror by insanity. No feeling, just empty. And one must wonder, what will happen when this poor child. This twisted child, will do when the mirror breaks before her. Will she be stuck in the bloody after math, will she be relived, and will she have the courage to step through.