The Flames In Mind 4 Keeping Sanities Where Wild Ones Crawl

Grey lines,

A possible demise.

Life expectancy,

the universe alive.

Colors of a wind,

s.h.i.+ne along her blueish skies.

It's so clear,

But under a mine.

Electric soul,

Flourish almighty young lives.

Behold strangers,

They intertwine.

***

When it comes to feelings, I am unsure of myself. Yet when it comes to overthinking with a mumble jumble of words and questions, it's correct.

It's the thought that counts, they say.

I believe it, but I also consider it to be a load of bulls.h.i.+t. Thinking isn't exactly one of my fortes' considering you should always think before you act.

I know it's the same for a lot of others. However, to meet one who does might be considered an understatement. Unless I know them better or learn more about them - then that's optional.

I don't do that 90% of the time unless it's homework or questioning if Bee isn't going to go all drill Sargent to claw answers out of my throat.

She'll probably do that later since I texted her not to come. f.u.c.k.

There are moments I have that lets me know my feelings are present, they aren't nonexistent - they're real as it can get. And it f.u.c.king distasteful sometimes.

Honestly, if people even still thought about it, a lot of the times they rather not speak their mind. They keep quiet, almost like a wallflower who watches everything but is stealthy and odd.

No offense for all those wallflowers out there but come on - I'm sure there's plenty of things you wish to say that you have seen and want to tell people about.

Then we would know if there is a thought that counts.

Another conundrum of that is that even if they did think about it, their actions can show otherwise. It's one of the reasons why I believe it's a load of bulls.h.i.+t.

I won't deny it but it's how I act sometimes when it comes to my mother. I think about being a little nicer and the next thing you know is my mouth is foul.

We have our moments to be reserved, thankfully - such as earlier.

In most cases, I still wonder. As a kid, I remember her being a very happy and successful woman who always had this gleam in her eyes. They're mostly dull now - angry of something.

When they do s.h.i.+ne, it's if I did something worthwhile, something good. And nowadays my only good is my straight A's. Anything good isn't exactly present on the spectrum.

So far p.i.s.sing my mom off is the only good thing I can do but I try with my grades. Deep down, I'm sure she knows that too - she has to, she's my mother. And I love her for that.

Needless to say, I still wouldn't know even if she had that thought. Because it doesn't show. Just pure anger, hidden behind that fake smile I want to p.i.s.s off every minute of the day.

What's funny about certain things is that even when it's something that's never spoken or hidden by the turbulent masked faces - when I overthink, my questions can be accurate.

I don't like that, it's why I don't overthink when it comes to him.

I just... wouldn't.

And somehow when all it took was just one look into her eyes - those f.u.c.king green eyes - I couldn't shake off this familiar feeling. It's gut-wrenching and I don't know what to do.

Going with the flow is all I can think of because who knows what she knows. It's not like she will show it either?

At this point, I rather just keep to myself if she caused such a feeling in me to snap. Everything was so vague when I woke up after blacking out.

Except some are hard to forget.

*

The feel of chilled fingers caressing my stinging check enables a small swallow in my throat. My dried up lips parts to say a sound. But they were muted and my head was blank.

I keep my eyes shut so I wouldn't have to see. The person whose creating the burning trails in my veins with just one look at those confusing orbs, I'd rather cower the feelings in a corner than act on them.

Yet, better said than done.

A rugged groan escapes my parched throat, it's rough. I need something wet, I thought.

My head hurts a bit, I could say it's probably a headache but it feels as if a bruise is forming. Blinking a few times to clear up the blurriness after taking a peak, I forcibly rub my eyes with the pads of my fingers.

While doing so, my hand briefly touches the one before - it flinches; I don't feel it's presence anymore. I hear a sharp intake of breath, it was so low I could've mistaken it for a sniffle.

I groan loudly again, arching my back, getting a feeling that I am laid against the wall. Last I check I was falling on the - oh... now that explains the pain, probably face-planted the floor.

I hear hard shuffling against the wooden floor as I open my eyes and grumble -

"What the f.u.c.k?" My voice is hoa.r.s.e; the girl is on the other side of the hall - her body curled up in a small ball, leaning against the railing. Her emerald green eyes are wide with shock and her knuckles turn a bit white from gripping on her arms.

She bites on her luscious bottom lip hard, them trembling is visible. Too noticeable for my liking because it makes me want to kiss them.

Instead, I do the opposite.

"What are you looking at?" I spit rudely in her face, smearing my words in venom. She jumps, head hitting the railing a little too hard.

Not a sound escaping from her mouth, she cringes from the pain and unexpectedly I asked -

"Are you okay?" My tone clearly showing I am worrying for her. What is wrong with me?

The pain etched in her face quickly disperses as she squints her eyes, rosy bottom lip slowly sliding out from under her teeth. Her head c.o.c.ks to the side, licking and sucking on her bottom lip again, then nibbling it. Her deep green orbs are enticing, flickering brown specks s.h.i.+ne by the lights in the hallway. They look more golden.

Either she is studying my features or wondering what's wrong with me.

I gulp a little. Or something else.

A feeling in my chest is expanded making it harder for me to breathe. I tightly shut my eyes to clear my head and stood up abruptly ignoring the dizziness. I open my eyes, exhale through my nose and crumbled my fingers into fists.

Before taking a step - with my eyes focusing hard on the stairs - I spoke, "Kitchen is near the living room, get an ice pack," I seethe.

I took off before hearing anything short of a thank you from her intoxicating lips. Just the look alone makes me frustrated.

Her voice - I don't want to hear it.