Wash

"I sit and daydream, I've got daydreams galore

Cigarette ashes, there they go on the floor

Go away weekends, leave my keys in the door

Why try to change me now?"

-Fiona Apple, Why Try to Change Me Now from the featured album, The Best Is Yet to Come - The Songs of Cy Coleman (2011) 

  

Munch, Edvard. The Scream. 1893. Norway.

Lacerated and raw, tenderness bears my arms with the unforgiving sting of guilt. In a moral conscience, I cannot help but open the beads of my skin rather than letting truth spread her wings unapologetically through pockets of moonlight. If I can feel the seams of my skin slowly gape ajar, I can erase the feeling of being quilted fabric; no longer will the aging leather feel as if it was cut from various cloths of different people rather than my own character. 

Unchained, you could read a symphonic melody by the lines that ornament the limbs I use to trample all the good opportunities that yield its way towards me, magnetically. Hungered righteously, my efforts aren't condemned by the cigarette of Death but rather the rapid-progression of my mind's content. It's a choice too young for such a person to make but my clock seems to tick on slipping patience; who really cares about time when you're characterised for a selfish being for navigating on a sea of mistakes?

I like to sit and daydream about the person who wasn't chained to the reins of her strange, little past: I'm too sentimental and less conventional. Staring is a social aspect I'm accustomed to, as if I were the tangible binoculars that enable this intrusive behaviour of overanalysed misconceptions. And even when the moon circulates on its underside, everyone will still make efforts to flap their talking and bobbling heads about the girl who resembles a scarecrows physicality. Instead of washing my hands clean from the stems of nonexistent problems, my fingers are nimbly active and enticed to dirty themselves with physical evidence of sins I unintentionally commit. 

Not for attention, habits of tarnishing the girl who once resided in my heart by unlocking the cage that encloses her, gives a sense of temporary belief before reality of actions arise.