Invited to audition For Miss Great Britain England and Miss Great Britain Africa Founder of the Lunchbox Millionaire Company #HecticEpileptic
Saturday, 29 August 2015
The solemn ones
Social alienation. That's what I got for putting myself out on a limb for a coward. I stared hard at the ripples in my coffee cup, it was charcoal black, I imagined myself being a fish and diving into its depths, escaping the judgement of others. All eyes were on me, like Pleistocene stuck politely to an art form, or the chewing gum you accidentally sit on whilst visiting a bench in the urbs. Life was as shallow as the people were, and yet my brain felt dense, heavy with the burden of so many split marble thoughts. What does it mean to loose yourself in the ghosts of the pasts, chasing you as smoke from a lit firework, a life once an explosion of colour,meets with the buoyancy of other people's inadequacies. I looked along the hall of Mike's busy yet somehow tainted bar, I ignored the voices that parroted themselves in my hrad,weaving a spell, binding my confidence, swallowing me in between gulps of pained questions. Why does the world seek to destroy you so much when your different, seek to age you so much when your young, steal your infinity, and handcuff your soul to its own over complex rules. And yet are they happy? The rule makers, those who judge you, taint their tongues with ink, their spiders tongue an oil across a canvas. The bar was empty tonight. I looked up at the gothic chandeliers, an animated sterling silver cupping miniature diamonds that danced light into my solitude, the chaos of the audiences scattered across the different round mahogany tables, and a tiny kiss of wealth from the orient, a large painting of a famous oriental team, as though the message here being, we were traffic. I downed the cooling black cup, letting it's bitterness absolve me for a second, watering my roots. Slung my black leather jacket, and with Quaking feet prepared myself for the earthquake outside. The zombies who pressed the puss of liquid wounds still bleeding, the stranger I had to prepare to become, I kissed my cup for good luck, tasted another breath of oxygen and took puppet steps, to a world with many strings.
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