Cold Cold Cold by Cage the Elephant
It all aches. From the ends of my fingers to the tips of my toes. As though the marrow in my bones throbs to swell and bleed out of my pores. The tendons of my muscles pulsate with the pain of over exhaustion, they are so tight because I've clinched together and tried to stay bound. Like I have pneumonia where my lungs are coated with disease and every breath is a labored wheeze. It hurts.
The doctor says that I'm fine. There is nothing wrong. How is it then that I do not feel right' Why do I feel like I no longer belong in the skin that I'm in" Why do I not recognize the face in the mirror" The image is distorted, blurred and smudged in the reflection. No one else seems to notice. They don't see what I see. It's questionable whether or not what I see is even real.
It's all in your mind he says.
He doesn't mean for it to be cruel, he's trying for reassurance. For comfort and compassion, to encourage a resilience within me that will bounce back like a coiled spring. He's trying to be understanding, but I regularly lack the words for any sort of explanation. How do I explain when I fail to comprehend what is wrong?
If I become apathetic, could we fall into complacency' Tell myself that I am fine and use it as a comfortable sort of notion, a veil that allows us to pretend that I'm okay, he's okay, we're okay. I'll become to grow accustomed to this face, this skin that peels and itches and flakes, but never returns into something I readily recognize anymore.
I don't like to lie though.
I know that I'm not okay.
In due time: have patience.
I laugh.
http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ekR9IDO_LZQ/Vqy_lbKzfQI/AAAAAAAAYmE/GvHS6KgY4co/s1600/spirit-science.jpg
It all aches. From the ends of my fingers to the tips of my toes. As though the marrow in my bones throbs to swell and bleed out of my pores. The tendons of my muscles pulsate with the pain of over exhaustion, they are so tight because I've clinched together and tried to stay bound. Like I have pneumonia where my lungs are coated with disease and every breath is a labored wheeze. It hurts.
The doctor says that I'm fine. There is nothing wrong. How is it then that I do not feel right' Why do I feel like I no longer belong in the skin that I'm in" Why do I not recognize the face in the mirror" The image is distorted, blurred and smudged in the reflection. No one else seems to notice. They don't see what I see. It's questionable whether or not what I see is even real.
It's all in your mind he says.
He doesn't mean for it to be cruel, he's trying for reassurance. For comfort and compassion, to encourage a resilience within me that will bounce back like a coiled spring. He's trying to be understanding, but I regularly lack the words for any sort of explanation. How do I explain when I fail to comprehend what is wrong?
If I become apathetic, could we fall into complacency' Tell myself that I am fine and use it as a comfortable sort of notion, a veil that allows us to pretend that I'm okay, he's okay, we're okay. I'll become to grow accustomed to this face, this skin that peels and itches and flakes, but never returns into something I readily recognize anymore.
I don't like to lie though.
I know that I'm not okay.
In due time: have patience.
I laugh.
http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ekR9IDO_LZQ/Vqy_lbKzfQI/AAAAAAAAYmE/GvHS6KgY4co/s1600/spirit-science.jpg