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Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do...
“Pom? Pomni… please… PLEASE ANSWER ME!” Jax shakes her, hugging her so tight she would burst if she were a bubble.
But he can’t afford to let go, or at least, he feels like he shouldn’t.
He let go of her before; he tried.
He pushed her away, physically, when she tried to hug him.
How could something so nice, gentle, soothing like a blanket…
...be pushed away like it was a pest deserving of death?
I'm half crazy all for the love of you...
Shaky breathing, uneven, even. That’s not such a good sign for you, Jax. What’s wrong? Forgot your archetype? We can’t have that now, can we? Your chest is heaving, you’re sweating, and your eyes are on the verge of popping out.
Almost as if you’re the one on the verge of bursting instead.
It won't be a stylish marriage...
That’s not such a good look on you, Jax. Like you said before in that bathroom,
"You look pathetic."
Quit it already.
Put her down.
Let go of her.
Quit remembering how you held hands.
Quit remembering how you taught her how to use a gun.
Quit remembering what you showed her, what you allowed her to see.
How she even had the gall, the audacity, to hug you.
A hug, Jax.
Physical contact.
A way to connect.
A way to bond.
A way to feel closer, not just emotionally but physically.
I can't afford a carriage...
You can’t afford another friendship, Jax. Another accident. Another fault of yours. Another abstraction. Another disaster. Another reason for others to hate you. Despise you. Avoid you.
Avoid you…
It was so simple, Jax.
You just had to distance yourself.
They call you a monster? Be one.
They say you hurt them? Continue on.
You make them cry? Let them flow.
At least those tears wouldn’t have been your own.
But now they are.
But you'll look sweet upon the seat...
Get off of her, Jax. Get off. Let go. Return to your mask. Every chess piece has a position at the start of every game. Every tool has a purpose. Every worker has a role. Every character has an archetype.
A cliche, an expectation, a cover.
Now take yours already and wear it.
Of a bicycle built for two...
But instead, you stay. You hold her even tighter. Your tears continue to fall; they stain her. You feel her sleeve get wetter and wetter. It’s cold, but you were probably already cold to begin with. Yet you continue to sweat in said cold. You keep quivering, almost as if you’re trying to match her twitches. You hear her, your closed eyes can vaguely see the bright light from her abstracted, colorful body.
She’s broken, she’s damaged, she’s hurt, she’s to be disposed of.
And you’re pathetic.
You deserve each other.
There is a flower within my heart...
Your heart continues to ache. It’s a familiar feeling, no? That sensation of your heartbeat being more prominent, of your heart dropping as if it can’t handle its own weight any longer. As if it wants to go inside of itself more and more just to stop all the suffering, regardless of whether it’s deserved or not. All it knows is that it’s in pain and wants it to stop.
So simple-minded, that heart of yours.
If only you were, too.
Just don’t get attached, then you don’t get hurt when you lose them.
Ignore everything else.
Keep the mask, avoid everyone else, move on.
So simple.
So easy.
What you would probably give to be that simple-minded and free.
Yet you’re a bunny trapped in a circus holding a glitchy amalgamation of a jester.
Daisy, Daisy...
“Pomni… please…” His voice cracks as a tear seeps into his lips. His grip loosens for a bit before tightening again.
Planted one day by a glancing dart...
Jax keeps glancing at his left hand, squeezing it.
Is it to perhaps remove that memory, or keep it tight like a kid trying not to lose a beloved balloon?
Balloons are replaceable; they only cost a few bucks.
Friends must be similar; you only need to give up your heart to them.
That shouldn’t be so hard, right, Jax?
You tell yourself that every night. (BEEP), even during the day, you do.
Even when you’re with her, you do.
You even told her after that game how you “really are deep down.”
How she should stop looking.
Then why do you keep looking for Pomni when all there is is an abstracted jester being hugged tight by a crying bunny?
Planted by Daisy Bell...
You’re remembering her touch, aren’t you? How she held tight and freeing, as if she never wanted to let go. Her red glove rubbing against your yellow in tandem. The way you both held tightly as you swung each other around like a carousel.
She even smiled at you, as you did her. Her eyes wide with dilated pupils. Your smile wide and as blinding as the sun.
How you both closed your eyes while leaning close to each other, like children not caring if any of them fall as long as they were granted permission to sing together for the sake of it.
Whether she loves me or loves me not...
Does she? Do you even deserve love?
You did this to her, Jax.
Can’t you see that?
Well, doubtful that she can, considering her eyes are replaced by the black glitches accompanied by varying eyes of differing colors.
Her voice isn’t even there anymore, just growls and glitch noises.
Her laughs, her smile, her little fidgets.
Her questions
“I’m learning a lot about you today…”
Her smirk isn’t even there anymore.
Just eyes.
Staring at you.
Judging you.
Sometimes it's hard to tell...
The song starts to fade out in your head…
Now all you hear are glitches and growls, accompanied by your begging and weeping. Tears continue to drop, but you feel like your body has already run out.
Yet, they keep flowing regardless.
You're tired, so is she.
And she's gone now.
Some part of you wishes you could sing that song again.
Too bad she can't sing it with you anymore.