the irony of pink pills

I've been hating pink most my life.
I really never ever had a 'thing' for pink.. Ok sure. I had the usual pink frilly summer dress as a child, but the moment i had control over my fashion sense, I refused pink. I preferred blues and purples and ultimately, above all, Black.
I've been told black is dismal, dark, gloomy..
i've been called goth.. been mocked for attempting to mantain an all black wardrobe... (lovingly of course)
And i never cared.. I love black.
But it seems my long relationship with black has allowed it to seep into my blood, and has allowed me to be introverted and sedated as black can be sometimes.. Not loud, or alive like a pink...
and so now black is running through my veins, and although it is comfortable.. I'm feeling funny.
I'm feeling the need to breathe. I feel painted into a corner. Painted into a corner with black paint..
And suddenly, I need to take pills.
And the irony?
they're pink.

Pink pills.

I need to take them because the black has consumed me in a way that black would not usually do. But i have become weak and troubled, and those are the best conditions for the good black to change into a black less friendly, less comfortable...

So i'll take thhese pink pills for a while.. Not long enough for it to circle in my veins, and bring a rosy glow to my cheeks..
But long enough to back the black off for a while.. To sooth it.

I hate pink...

go ask alice...

the moon is gleaming at me with a cheshire cat smile.. Thin and crisp and glowing. and i feel warm, despite the chilly feel in the air...
i kept looking for that smile as i walked.. it would peep behind the trees.. and the buildings..
and i'd always smile back.

maybe it matters that i smile back at the cheshire cat.. maybe his glow will infect me with a smile that makes me disappear.. but always remains..

i should ask alice..

unicorns in my head

written after last meeting with my FYP advisor:

What if I found a unicorn right now?
Would it make everything ok?
I would just look at it. It would be my personal saviour. In its perfections it would dissolve those imperfections around it. It would simply be pure beauty. When I look at images of unicorns they hold a promise to me, they keep their silent word that I’m safe. That there is a lot more good out there, much more reason to be happy than sad.
I get angry when I see people not appreciating the beauty. It is as if sometimes I feel they don’t see the beauty in me.
Do I dare take them out of their endless glass cage; behind the immobile, the still? Put them into one much different, where they can be indignified -polluted?
I speak perhaps like I am saying they are pure as is told of unicorns. But they are, not because they are white, or they were said to be so (a symbol of purity) but they are intrinsically pure. They just are.
They’ve been said to be aggressive, to be dangerous to anyone but a maiden, but I don’t think they are. They are merely protective- of beauty and don’t want us to ruin them.
Maybe my love for unicorns is just like my love of stars- always watching them from afar, always smiling at their existence, but never able to reach them. Perhaps even not wanting to reach them.
(stars will burn you to ashes)
And I don’t want to reach the unicorn because I’m afraid.
Afraid either of being disappointed that the real thing is just overrated and over beautified by images that are results of dreams of wishes, or afraid that I will no longer be able to dream or suspend my belief.
It’s true that the unicorns I “see” in my mind are relatively similar in appearance, but seeing the one true form would destroy them.
Maybe that’s a harsh word- not destry them, but make them sterile, and merely “bad-copies”..
Merely the mental rantings of someone who has lost all core meaning.. a madman making ugliness out of beauty.
Maybe I love horses because in my head they’re the closest I can get to their “imaginary” cousin without “burning”, without fear of disappointment
But unlike something in my head, I cannot control my encounters – and when I am “turned down” by a horse, when I am ‘rejected’ so to speak, when my care is not wanted or needed, my affection scorned, I take it badly. I feel that the beauty within me does not meet the required level… That I’m not up to par….