The Nightshade Princess
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2001-11-19 23:23:43 (UTC)

Coming down, the years turned over

They painted up your secrets
With the lies they told to you
And the least they ever gave you
Was the most you ever knew
And I wonder where these dreams go
When the world gets in your way
What's the point in all this screaming,
No one's listening anyway

Your voice is small and fading
And you hide in here alone
And your mother loves your father
Cuz she's got nowhere to go
And she wonders where these dreams go
Cuz the world got in her way
What's the point in ever trying
Nothing's changing anyway

They press their lips against you
And you love the lies they say
And they've tried so hard to reach you
But you're falling anyway
And you know I see right through you
Cuz the world gets in your way
What's the point in all this screaming,
You're not listening anyway....

I was digging through some old cd's and came across
this one. I needed something to soothe the screams within
me. I was going to write this in today's first entry, but
somehow I couldn't bring myself to do it. I swear this
could have been life's story two years ago, when father
drank still, and mother began gathering herself, and when
I, for perhaps the very first time, saw things the way they
really were. My mother truly did not love my father, but
acted as a wife normally would (more accurately, she acted
how he wanted her to). She couldn't leave yet, as she
hadn't the money, and also had no place she could go to
stay until she found her feet. Like a fresh coat of red
paint holding together a car that is, in reality, nothing
more than rust beneath, they tacked, painted and duck taped
the family together whenever we needed to appear somewhere
(like a family gathering), so no one ever knew. I couldn't
have friends come to the house, for there father would sit,
getting drunk until he went to bed. It had to become
another of my secrets (like my weeks of despair, which had
seriously begun to worsen by then.)
You know how seriously ill people converse with each
other in the throes of their sickness, each wasting away
and knowing they probably won't make it, tell each other
they are looking SOOO much better, when really they both
know better. They only mean those words to be comforting,
perhaps bring some cheer into the room, but they end up
sounding strained and truly pathetic. Both patients know
damn well how emaciated they've become. My mother and I
used to talk to each other in that same manner.
For that year, something inside me screamed. Toward
the end, the screams comingled with those of my parents as
they argued. Silent cries for something I could not define
and never receieved. When they fought, I hide in my room,
my headphones on and some heavy metal group blasting loudly
enough to drown it all into sonic oblivion. Sometimes it
would continue into the night, and sometimes I fell asleep
with those damn headphones over my ears. Somewhere in this
journey, I gave up the screaming, because they were simply
too busy with their own affairs to listen and give a damn.
In that year, I had admirers... not so many as I would
have in the years to come, but they were there. I loved to
be admired and watched... it was the first time in my life
I had ever been attractive to someone. In the end though,
no one could actually reach me. People these days still
find it hard when my eyes lost their focus and life, and I
do not speak.
I'm crying now, for a few other songs are also playing
that could still apply to my life, some that have now taken
on new meaning for me. So, for the moment at least, I put
these memories away. Maybe someday they won't hurt so