Glass Hysteria: Book Preview One

I love choccy wrappers and how they crinkle.

I love the smell of petrol…

and the taste of sharp cheese.

I hate my thighs and I hate war.

I love rice cakes and trips in the rain.

My favourite things of all are fast trains.

I like black eye crayons and green notebooks.

I love beanie hats and hate earmuffs.

I move quickly because I don’t want people to see me.

I move quickly because I want people to see me.

I love animal crackers and mini juice boxes.

I hate veggie bacon and trips to the mall.

Money makes me sad.

Tofutenders make me happy. 

London always feels like home when I arrive,

but my heart belongs to Magdeburg.

I love long travel and different accents,

the thrill of being abroad.

Roses make me happy.

Daisies make me sad.

I hate liars, but I lie when I’m afraid.

I tell the truth to be kind, but sometimes to be hurtful. 

I love tea and biscuits.

I love mash, but I’m afraid to eat it.

I don’t speak because I’m shy and I hate my voice.

I love the colour of my eyes because it changes and 

it reminds me of my dearest boy.

Dancing in the wet grass is fun.

I love cuddles in the fall and sugar-free hot chocolate with

vanilla in it.

I hate being alone, but I’m too shy to make many friends.

 I constantly fear that I will be hurt.

I wish I was beautiful like the people on the telly. 

I sometimes pretend not to understand so that people will

keep talking to me. 

I’m afraid to hurt people, yet I sometimes struggle with malicious rage.

I’ve only truly loved one person in my life…and even after all this time,

he still fills my tummy with butterflies.

My family is spread all over the world, we speak many languages and belief in

different creeds, but DNA doesn’t lie. 

Scarves and ties are like nooses and I like to wear them when I’m

feeling suicidal.

I never smile in photos, because I don’t think smiles should be faked.

I loved forts made of blankets and thoughts of self-obliteration. 

I’m in love with a smile, I dearly want to kiss.

Sometimes I feel like a waste of time.

I’m afraid of getting old.

I’m in love with beauty but love the ugliness that the world has to offer as well. 

I only paint the nails on my left hand because I love to see how my

hand and knuckle tattoos look like with painted nails and without.

I’ve hurt myself for attention.

I’ve learned that few, if any, ever notice or care.

I love the colour green and how the light sparkles in the rain,

I’m in love with the idea of love, but the reality sparks terrible anxiety 

deep within me.

I love the first snow of the year. 

The smell of fresh books makes me horny.

There are so many people in this world I’m afraid to be lost in it. 

And this is all of me...

I don't think that people realise the number of things in our lives

that scar us. We are frail, yet enduring. Our lives are delicate and

in an attempt to make sense of everything, we build ourselves up.

We see, but we do not see. This is a world of illusion. What we see

and how we define it is up to us, but we are not always correct. 

......

I once read that one hundred flowers bloom in a woman's heart when she is love, but what blooms within me? When you are in a state of genderless woe, how can you know? I want the beautiful tiger lilies that remind me of the man that I adore to bloom with my heart, filling it with beauty only paralleled to his. Such things I say…Such things I dream of. There are no easy answers…even if there were easy answers, I do not know how I would phrase my question. Is it even proper of me to ask? I want to believe that I am just how I am meant to be, but if this is true, why does it hurt me so? Why does it force me to belittle myself with negative stigma and half-truths?

......

While he's dancing beautiful in lavish cream and designer dreams. Lost in my thoughts, he's lost in time. We swap our roles and switch positions. Whoever thought this could be so much fun. We're a couple of monsters, a couple of messes, a couple of liars, a couple of lovers, a couple of beauty addicts. I don't know what's come over me.

........

Its a waste of space, the time of your life. Let the waters run in and the blood run out. Let me slip away and dance on the sun, while the ice melts and tongue wag in the late afternoon sun. Alcoholics strung out on the past, reality staining their livers, lungs and teeth. Addicts in the shadows hiding in schizophrenic dreams, screaming of their false loyalties. 

.......

I'm lost in the small comforts of the world, never knowing how to make do. The waves crash around me I'm lost in time, all the while we're forgetting that we're dying, just have fun, Narcotic hazes are breaking down gender barriers and truth be told, none of it matters anything to me. Love me for me. Hate me for me. Just don't forget me, love. In photographs and films, my likeness is preserved; my secret anger and angst exposed in ways I never wanted them to be. Run through the world, scream my name. Let me know that we're not all the same. Break my bones, make me cry. Teach me the lessons that I so badly need to learn. 

........

I have a confession to make. I am a fool. Here I am pushing away the love of a woman, for the rare possibility that the man I love will return my feelings. Perhaps my love for him is nothing more than a lie; a chemical reaction sent to distract me from the sweet waters of life? I know that I do not love her in the same sense, but am I being selfish for not returning her brand of love? Should I just force myself as I have done in the past…is that where happiness stems from?

..........

Ah, my lies and manipulations perfectly preserved in time; encased in amber and stored in my mind. They are the only part of me that is safe from decay. My selfishness is damn near overwhelming and I continue to fuck myself. I get off on deceiving, all the while hating it. Perhaps it's just an excuse to hate myself further? Or is it the other way around? These thoughts stimulate me and send pleasure waving through my body…I wonder if this is why they call it mental masturbation? 


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