they are salty, these my tears. Like my sweat, and as burning/irritating. but not really.
they are cooler (cold) than my sweat these my tears. They don’t roll down in shiny beads all over secretive parts of my skin
they drip in “tick.tick” motion from within- like little rain-drops
they hit the ground in my head, sometimes rolling, extending farther to
my chin. And yet not even I can see them, for the party (pity) is ongoing but from with in.
I feel them, these my tears,
With my fingers, of both hands, i wipe my eyes.
I know there isn’t anything there in, still, i need to clear my view.
my vision has been impared much longer than I should have let it and its only getting worse.
I need to see them for who they are. To excuse their melted fakeness only when i must. I need to see them for the scared, wimpy bastards that they are. To know and understand that a time comes, it always does, for them, when more than just one is too much to handle, too intimadating to fake-smile with.
And because they have no idea what to do, how to not plastic away, they act out, and pace up and down, and apologise for words unsaid, laugh about jokes made in bad haste.
I had a good 28hours. haven’t had a last night or a today. but somehow, some one, some people, thought it best to come and knock me about……………