Lab Rats and Pink Alarms

Nonchalance and elaborately crafted indifference laced with dark humour. So cynical at such a tender age. A semi-sadistic streak of voyeurism as a sardonic being in your head watches others milling about and running around trying to gather all the stimuli you give them, reinforcing whatever belief they already hold of you, they become dogs and bitches to your Pavlovian instinct. Lab rats they all are.

Falling in love with a lab rat. How does that feel? Do you relish the challenge? Do you resent it? Will the rat ever transcend its function? Will it invade that smoldering and ashen wall that surrounds whatever you've so painstakingly hidden? Rats are known for their deceit and strength, maybe you are setting yourself up for something that might overwhelm you. Or maybe you'll squash it dead. With you, no one can tell. The sadism and the gentleness go hand in hand, one never knows just which brand of you will manifest itself.

Oh the fascination of the broken. It sings and calls and tells you, tells you that you can fix it, that it has only been waiting for you to fix it. The excitement of the ride into a broken mind, with the jagged edges and sudden, gravity-free falls. It will make you gasp and bleed and laugh and scream. It calls to you, to prod it, to twist it this way and that, prick a needle here, tie up that little loose end there. It tempts you, telling you that you can fix your own broken pieces as you go along. Now that could be a fabrication. Nevertheless, it won't be boring. No it won't.

So many little thoughts in your head come with so many little alarm bells, each with a history, each with a baggage of its own, trying to fit comfortably within a limited space. So many risks you run each day, waiting for one of these alarms to go off, waiting to see red. Because there are so many of them! All red, pink and white dots milling around, making interesting patterns and tainting everything they encounter, every new memory. And you, you actively go about activating these alarms, until there's nothing in your head but the insistent clamour of too many bruises, too many scabs picked. You can't hear yourself think in all that noise, and you're free.

Freedom comes at such a cost, doesn't it? But as someone very wise said, the ultimate freedom is the freedom to face the consequences. And you, you do that so beautifully. Even with your world falling apart, you do that so beautifully.