Sometimes i say it can't be
because it can't
but sometimes i say it must be
because it must
I must be
Therefore I can't be
Do you ever wonder if the cup you're drinking from has a bottom?
You see it has a pit - rather, a stomach - and how it ends to fit in your palm, but do you ever wonder if you're seeing everything?
It makes sense, to assume it has a bottom and to assume it must be able to be filled and emptied.
But what about the ones that sprung leaks? What about the ones who broke in all the wrong places?
You know what's going to happen to them. Cracking. Trashing. It's a death sentence, for something that cannot experience death. You must do something about it.
You pitch the worthless cup.
Have you ever wondered what it's like to be be the worthless cup?
Do you think about it daily? Does asking the question, "Am I a worthless cup?" haunt you?
Do you live in fear of that question? Do you live in fear over what you could be? What you can't be? What you must be? Are you ever confused over the difference?
I have to lie to myself. It works. I go on weeks at a time, maybe months, blissfully living an empty life. I'm content with empty, until I ask that question again.
The question hunts me down, attacks everything I've done and makes me fear my own self. My emotions become invalidated. Even as I cry, I know it means nothing, so I cry harder because I'm merely fake. Then I start to argue with myself.
I search through everything. When I find proof, I dispute it. When I find evidence towards the contrary, I deny it.
It goes in circles, and I always come to the same conclusion: Therefore I must be, therefore I can't be. Therefore I can't be, therefore I must be.
Sometimes I merely nibble at myself, amused with the debate going on in my mind. Most of the time, I eat away. Sometimes, I greedily tear chunks away from myself, even from my flesh, and deny all the missing emotions and every single shred of sadness.
No matter how much I chew at a time, I always become tired with the taste. The topic becomes plain, like a medicine that was bland at first, but became increasingly nauseating in it's tastelessness the more you swallowed it. I then have nothing else to do but force the topic away whenever it arises, until I forget.
Eventually, my quest to forget becomes so successful that I force feed myself the same poisonous question yet again because I don't remember why it ever lost it's flavor.
Like a serpent eating it's own tail.
The passage of time makes me a fool.
If you tip me over, I feign unhappiness.
If you fill me up, I feign satisfaction.
If you press the right buttons, I become a doll. You can never play with that doll, it can only play with you. But it can do anything you want it to, until you push that button too hard.
It's a very easy button to press.
If I'm a doll, I'm a heavy one. I'm a burden. I never want you around, and your only purpose would be to protect me.
I'm vulnerable. I only love you when I need to love you.
I wish you well because I think I should wish you well, because I think I need to. Because it's a requirement to being human.
It's never because I feel the need to.
I don't deserve anything.
If you dropped me, I would break easily. Nothing inside. Hallow.
Shallow emotions, shallow life.
Why do I think I'm an useless cup?
What else do you call something you can never fill or empty?
You certainty don't call it human.
You call it manipulative.
You call it fake.