Brains over heart

Sometimes when you say something over and over again to yourself, you begin to believe it just might be true. Forgetting the misconstructions of your mind and its ability to convince itself the possible could be impossible and the impossible, possible. It’s not like we can help it, it’s just that when we are doing it, we are not thinking and if we are not thinking, how do we stop ourselves from doing it?

Our minds convince us that our hearts love, but the heart is just an organ incapable of emotions. After all, don’t all emotions come from the brain? We all have that small part in our brains that maybe we should call the heart. The one part that feels the existent and nonexistent emotions. Convinces us to go after things that if we considered carefully, we would never conceive or perceive ourselves doing them. That’s the part of us that goes numb when we face too many emotions. All too heightened. Every extreme emotion of joy or pain, is pressed hard upon not to impose images of a happy ever after or depressed for life. It can’t be too much or too little, but it’s never enough either. Is this the part of our brains that tell us when we look in the mirror at reflections of ourselves at the height of sexual need and desire we have so many faults that the need cannot be met? Or maybe it’s the part of our brains that tells us how twisted we are as we wank, pushing us over the edge into an oblivion of ecstasy. Or better still, maybe it’s the part of our brains during sex with the person we are not horny for, tells us that this is a waste of time and energy and no matter how hard we try, we are going to achieve nothing. One thing is for sure, its that part of the brain that when someone/people force themselves on you, tells your body to shut down, your pussy not to lubricate, the rest of the brain to block it out, your senses are heightened but grief and pain blind and deafen you. The pleas from your mouth sound like they come from someone else and all around you is fear and that caving feeling in your stomach renders you senile for a while. No good memory comes to mind with the good in it. All is tainted around you and it feels like nothing can ever make it better. Like nothing was ever good or will ever be good. The resentment, fear and hatred towards the I becomes magnified and no amount of sugar, spice and everything nice can tone it down. This is the part of my brain am most comfortable being numb. That the feeling may never reach the recesses of my mind and the tainting may be buried so deep that an illusion of forgetting created. I want numbness because in feeling, I feel them all. Unless you can find a way to open only the good, leave the pandora’s box of my brain closed and numb to all emotions.

It’s not that am in denial of the heart that beats inside my mind it’s that I have seen first hand what facing it can do. The same mind re-lives the nightmare and no amount of crying, singing, dancing, drinking or stoning up can kill them. It’s like having the same freaking episode on nightmares on I street on replay, everytime you see it, you get this foreboding feeling, the crawling up your spine kind of foreboding feeling. You break into a heavy sweat, your breath catches in your throat and you sniffle subconsciously. The feeling renders you useless and incapable of doing anything constructive or otherwise. The vision makes you consider yourself less worthy of love, that for every person you fall in love with, they will never love you back. They know you don’t deserve it and never will. They know you are just but another one of the untouchables, destined to be alone forever, to relive your nightmares in the dead of night curled into a ball in the corner of a brightly lit room but all that you see is darkness. That’s what they see I tell you, that’s what they see. It’s in the way they look at the I, never truly seeing me. The look of disgrace that’s on my face, am one of the fallen, how can they love me?

Like I said, please let me embrace numbness because in trying to feel love, I see deception. I see the lies that form and blind yet I cant walk away. I see frustration, the pain of knowing this is all in my head and will never end. I see pain, who will say it’s better to have loved when all I have done is lost? Close tight this Pandora’s box of my brain, throw it into a bigger box, lock it, swallow the key and throw the box into the depths of the sea. That for anyone to find it, it would be I or me. I knows myself can’t make three.