Sandpaper - I

[Rough Draft] 1.30.21 my final piece before hiatus.

Sandpaper; 1.30.21

I

Steam clouding over, a damp sweat cover and drowning under the shower. The thing under, was dirty, not physically, no �" it’s something worse than what it seems.

Disguised underneath a charming facade, beyond the reflection on any surface; the filthy and disgusting need to tear and smooth it with a rock scrub or even sandpaper. Many times, I’ve had this urge, a few times I’ve tried. Most of the time I suppress, but what more of it, if I continued, what would be of me? Just the threads of thoughts piling up, never noticed but there.

“The blazing sun that sheds my skin, the sand beneath my feet that I fear; I was biased when it came to weather and places, at least cold was a habitat I'd rather tolerate even as an Asian descendant, cause when the beads of sweat and sand combined, it draws pebbled patterns into my skin and making it itch. The image of sand drowning me is by far worse than the ocean’s water; the sensation of sinking. Eyes closed, willingly letting it peel off the skin I hated so much along with this body.”

“I longed for a mirror not to see or be seen,  a picture of fire heating the sand, making a crystal palace beneath me. A felt of sandpaper on my face like a tiger's tongue licking a wound. In between wanting to get out and swim away and just letting it take me where it flows, where my thoughts go and where pain looks down on me.”

Features prominent, matured lines over the wrinkles, calm stoic over the serious expression �" yet incomplete; just a lifeless sleep-deprived depressed girl on the mirror with a battle of existential crisis winning with self-doubt in the abyss of her mind she cannot crawl out.

I don't pout; I frown, I don't look, I gaze, I'm not dumb, I'm dazed. I am trapped in my mind with only the need to go out when it wants me to �" a captive, a mindset I've gone to claim, and would always be. I am within the walls I built up

 

II

�" unless I set myself free.

Looking at a wall, perplexed, the dark spots of mould loitering around, comparing and seeing a resemblance of what my skin looked like. I sighed, knowing I've been talking non-stop to nobody or even if there was someone out there �" would they find me weird, loco, mentally unstable? as I am.

[Why do I feel the need to explain everything I do, the thoughts of mine; people cannot understand with the understanding people should �" seeing the complexion in myself, and if I do; they would mind, asking if I was just seeking validation, asking for purpose in a bad interpretation �" self-doubt clouds my brain as anxiety squeezes my scratchy throat from screaming and whispering, asking for just a normal conversation in my head nobody seem to have acknowledged. Only seeing the outside exterior; the facade �" an endless loop I've portrayed. So I, myself need to isolate, and just go far away.

My thoughts are screaming, receding, ascending �" descending, demanding, and crawling out of the interior, exterior my mind has built like a barrier from the storm that my thoughts had formed.]

“There was no sand, but an abyssal dream, a night terror coming in real, taunting, and haunting that sliver of hope I feel for myself in the back of my mind. What was it that you feel? What is fear?” Shaking my head repetitively, I felt the covers lay damp under me, sweat filling my brows as I sat up, tormented.

I looked up at the mirror, she said not to, but I never listened. I got it placed on the ceiling; where I can see myself, the shadows even in the moonlight. It makes me realize just as everything I was and what I am, a reminder of myself.

I should get rid of it. 

III

[There's no best version of someone because people has different alters. You can only improve yourself in something, in particular, to be better. Even when you hear or read a word, you would remember something that you need to make a value of. Even when you're old and you come to face even the smallest situations, there's always something you could learn.

You could make yourself feel any kind of pain without thinking thoroughly. When are you going to live without the constant terrorizing feeling? Get up, get dressed, there’s always a battle in your head, the crossed faces that used to matter, you’ve blocked out everything. When are you going to live?

Author's Note

One of my greatest pieces and also the worst of all. But why not? I've been cruel on my own, I can't be pitied.

It's just so cruel to think how every creation you make, there's some of you left to it. [and this was all me]