Prose: Inside Out

I was on the outside looking into the inside world. The world that is never spoken about or heard or tasted or touched, let alone seen with human eyes. It is the place subhuman, below the surface, where the senses can’t make sense of things, anything.

Outside, in theaters across Berlin, a film was playing on big screens, with me as one of the co-stars and choreographer.. Outside, people were hailing my name and envious of my glossy life that I am constantly boasting about on various social media – that ever present necessity to keep in touch without touching. Outside, I was something, somebody, something closer to human. Inside, I was something else.

Inside, there was cold. The warmth of my way too fast beating heart, nervous because of the life that I lost and the loss that I was living through. I had somehow managed to wake up that morning and try harder, try again, try try try. Inside, I felt turned outside in, the demeanor a lie of truth that i was in fact once a person, a person who could do and/or be anything. I was something. I wanted more, and ended up with less than I have ever had.

Outside, there were people who thought I was lucky. Inside, I was down on my luck. Outside, I was respected and appreciated and sought out and talked about amongst peers who thought that I had made it, as strange as it was, that I was doing everything they wanted to be doing. That their lives were boring in comparison to mine. That they could never try anything that I tried. They were talking about my courage and my talent. They were outside. I was inside.

Inside I was crying, but not on the outside. The tears were cascading in, almost reverse release from my bloodshot eyes, those wary ducts, the place of that seething searing pain, the burning. The burning.

Outside I was wanted and needed and craved. Everyone I touched turned to shit. To mushy brown indecipherable messes of being. Outside of the normal realm of existence. I took everything away from them, things they never knew that they had. I was the kyrptonite to their Superman, the crucifix to their Vampire, their outside to their inside.

Inside I was scared. I was not brave. I was inside these doors that were lined with barbed wire, these walls stained with a million stress repellent cigarettes, these floors worn from heavy shoes that have walked a million miles. Inside I wanted to go back outside.

Outside, I was insider. Inside I was an outsider.


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