Monachopsis - Or The Subtle But Persistent Feeling Of Being Out Of Place

I woke up to an autumn breeze
And I remembered those nights
When my eyes searched for light,
And I'd close them so hard that I'd see tiny explosions,
Dying stars across the galaxy of the mind,
Wishing they would freeze
And extinguish my emotions

Those nights
When poetry was only a verb
And silence its master,
And as I made love to the sky,
A hug and goodnight,
And letting my mind loose on the streets,
A drive at midnight,
To extinguish this emotional disaster,
And I longed for a kiss from a stranger,
The one I knew all along,
And a chance to dance into darkness
In the shoes of madness
To his song of danger

And I've lost a lot along the way.

The key to my cage,
Control over rage,
Courage to engage,
And peace with old age,

And a friend who deserved more than a sudden sleep
As death kissed his lips

And I intertwine my fingertips even if I don't believe
And pray that you're finally at peace

Even if all I want is for you to return.

Pain has become a familiar tune,
And I already know the right way to dance to it

With shoes made of fear


And so I realized that I remembered madness after all. It's a familiar tune that is making my body move, and I'm not sure whether or not I should have missed the motion as much as I've done. The longing that occured so often weeks before this, when all I would do was stand still.

Happiness, sadness, fear, guilt, jealousy, peace, rage. Emotions flow through me like wind through curtains, a constant motion that prevents me from staying straight.

Someone once told me it's better to constantly be in motion than hang there, still, like a bell without sound. That someone was me, and I hate her for it. There's too much motion, it's making me sick and exhausted beyond repair. The bell keeps on chiming and I can't sleep anymore.

I live awake and hurting in this suburban nightmare and see no way out than through daydreams and pointless walks down fields that no longer give me the freedom I used to get from them. It's all too familiar, and it doesn't work as a distraction anymore.


Nothing is new, nothing is intriguing, and so I'm stuck listening to my mind and the madness, the tornado that keeps on destroying everything I struggled to build back up this summer. Never have I seen so much beauty and strenght in my mind be torn down so quickly, so harshly, to the point where I can't see how any of the pieces ever fit together.

I see videos of myself from back then, only weeks ago, when my eyes were ignited, my skin was glowing, my mouth always smiling. Who was she, and will she ever exist elsewhere besides in my mind, underneath the rubble?


I'm seriously worried I'm losing it. Like my mind wasn't already in turmoil before it happened.

Last time I dealt with death it took me a year to get back up again.

How long will it take now, when I was destroyed in a state of already being broken?

He filled more of my life than I thought, meant more than I realized and carried more of my secrets than a lot of other people. Nobody was as caring as him.

A certain anger and self-pity makes me hate myself. I feel guilty for wanting him to be here because I need him now, more than ever. Am I a horrible person? Does that make me egoistical? Am I just a narcissistic asshole?

I can't help but wonder sometimes. Do I feel more sorry for myself than I should? Probably. Though now I feel I have reason for it.

And I hate that exact notion, that we need to excuse ourselves or come up with a 'valid' reason for being sad, depressed or manic.

Why can't you just be what you are sometimes?

I am a massive mess.


Sofia Hariz