Grandiosity!

I overindulge and shovel globs of fluffy, velvety ice cream into my small, round mouth, glossed with delusions of oil and vinegar. My tongue paralyzes after the mortifying aftertaste of highly saturated fat and sugar. Every bone in my body stretches and cracks before joining together to play the failure's violin. Beads of sweat contour my forehead and burst into rivers, running down my face. The elastic skin around my eyes reaches around and pinches every corner when I can't bare to look into the bowl. These two polished fingers could be anywhere else buried under pillows but they were gouging my heart out through the tube of my sore throat, digging for bones and dead things like a rabid dog. My stomach tenses and the waves twist and melt at the sides like the mutilated top of a cone.

My brain whispers similes. The apples of my cheeks are blush pink because the blood rushes to my head when I think about my reflection. I lace my wrists with compliments like a splash of perfume and I wear it all day. I take every look my way from a stranger and I tie it around my finger into a tightly wrapped satin ribbon. Grandiosity! Dressing my tears into long organza gowns and sheathing my dejection with candy apple syrup that coats my frowning lips. I drape vanity around my neck to masquerade the scabs of jealousy and inferiority. Deep jade gemstones hang from my earlobes and mumble something cold into my ear about how I decorate myself with conceit. I select people who hold me to such high expectations and I let them down in the quietest way. I feel a new layer of skin bubbling under my own and I peel the layer back to reveal a permanent blanket of narcissism.

Every time I hear "I'm not good enough for you," I unravel the silver paper around those words and eat it like candy. It feeds me and the hungry venomous snake that sleeps between the crevices of my skeleton. I don’t need a full meal because drops of tears are my fulfillment.

The concept of acknowledging any trace of insecurity raises the hair on my neck. Weakness makes me uncomfortably soft and the concept of vulnerability intimidates me, as if I’m crossing into enemy territory. Admitting that I need another hand to pull me off the cold tile floor takes a lot more out of me than it does to regurgitate stomach bile.

I chew the raw bits of my fingernails and wait eagerly for them to grow back within the second. I've inflicted wounds on people who promised to love me unconditionally just to test their loyalty and I am disappointed each time. Patience is a virtue but I have never had the tolerance for people or things that weren't sitting idly under my fingertips. I wear authentic pearls draped around my yellow bruised neck. Pure glittering diamonds nestle into my crown against my temples. Purple faded veins pulsate and dance through irritation, as I can't seem to find anyone to fit my reasonably high standards. I do not have time or patience for anything that isn't serving me immediately or backing off as I declare.

I write love letters with eyeliner and kiss the envelope with expensive red lipstick, just to state that I do not take responsibility for the ugliness inside. I am responsible for me and my propensity to bathe in clear cold blood before really falling in love. Some nights I never sleep and I question my ability to feel things the appropriate way, and whether or not I am softening in the right areas of my heart. Lately it feels like the mirror is the only place I feel elevated and invincible. The mirror is where you create your most beautiful self image and it reflects onto the screen of space. I am the creator of the Universe! I am the most intellectual human being alive! The day I wield my golden scepter I will never love another person again. This jeweled fur cloak hanging off my shoulders is the benefit of being a Monarch. I withhold a high power and authority as a queen regnant without anyone by my side to my throne. I hold sovereignty over an entire kingdom and every citizen looks to me, as I possess unfathomable power.

So do not interrupt me while I dream these things, because I dread waking up in that cold white room again. It has been weeks of swallowing a handful of little colorful pills and spoonfuls of soup. The smell of clean linens forever drills holes through my nostrils into my brain, as I prepare another oral speech with the thesis "I am perfectly fine to be released today, and here's why:"

Let me sleep and let me coil my defeated body around the smallest amount of hope that I might be home today. A kingdom is waiting on me.