It will be spring in hell soon. In most places that means tons of flowers with birds chirping on every tree branch, but in reality, here all it means is bitter fucking cold that forces my dick deep within my body like a turtle hiding in its shell. In many ways I am like a turtle. I am hiding in my house like a drug addict, but that could be because I am one. Not entirely sure about that though, denial seems to be the first step in rationalization of my existence. Spring also means that new classes are starting back up and my hell just continues to warm up to my cold black heart. I’m becoming self-loathing, I can start to feel it again, maybe it’s time for another line or maybe I should just ride these emotions into a brick wall. The ups are down and the downs are up, but my heart keeps ticking until it’s time to self-destruct. Every now and then I find myself listening to certain bands, depending on my moods. Currently I am sad, hope that didn’t come as a surprise, and I have found myself listening to the glorious sounds of destruction, by which I mean Virgin Suicides. I found a long time ago that the pain of another makes my pain go away. When I am in a rare good mood I like to listen to Iell or Red Lantern Core which is strange in itself because they are death metal bands. For some reason I have always been drawn to metal even though my mother never listened to that kind of music or any of my old friends for that matter. Yeah, I had friends once but not for long, so I learned to live without them. If I told you my birthday is in the spring would you believe me? But which month of the spring could it be? Do you really care or am I just a character in your mind? My birthday isn’t for months but already it is weighing on my mind. Growing older is not a feeling anyone could actually enjoy. I am not immune of course even if the last year doesn’t feel any different from the one before it. Somehow I know that I have become older and it bothers me. My birthday isn’t a day I care to live anymore. Not since she left, not since the fact that our first kiss was on that day so many years ago. Yes everything has a way of taking me back to her. A line seems appropriate now and I will. Tears are harder to ignore when they fall next to your drugs. The line doesn’t help but I’m sure it does because I want it too. I was born in the fantastic month of April. If you ever have time to look up how fantastic April really is you’d realize more atrocities happen in April than any other month of the year. It may be a little bias but it’s a gift from God if you choose to believe that. I was supposed to be born in March, fun fact about me, but I just didn’t want to come out, go figure, and I was born several weeks late in the great month of April. Now twenty-two years later I refuse to leave my new womb, so my drug dealer was nice enough to come to my house. He usually doesn’t come to people’s houses, but with me he makes an exception, I pay cash. He doesn’t stay long, something about the rules of the game or some shit. The man fancies himself a gangster in a city of 25,000 old people. It’s quite funny when you stop to think about it. I wonder if he ever stops to think about it? Probably not. He thinks that he is the scariest mother the world has ever seen. Too bad he is a tadpole in a world of sharks, but don’t ever tell him that. In a way I kind of like him and he has become what some people call a friend. Though I think it has more to do with the drugs than anything else and he always brings plenty. I spent most of everything I have saved up over the last few weeks, but I should be good for a while. I will say one thing about the man, he has the best prices in town even if they are the only prices.
Time comes and it goes
It passes by ticking away
It slowly kills us from the inside
Time comes and it goes
Will you stay the same over time?
My mind is like an open sore
Constantly becoming infected by everything around me
Constantly becoming everything that I fear
Time comes and it goes
Where? No one truly knows
As If We Learn From Our Mistakes
I’m so hungry. I ran out of money and can’t afford food. It’s been three days since I have eaten anything of real substance, the last thing I ate was a box of Stove Top. I may have even eaten the box by now but the evidence of such actions are missing. I’m so hungry all I can think about is eating my cats. I won’t, at least not yet so don’t worry your silly little head, but it scares me that I can’t stop thinking about it. The real disturbing thought is which one to eat first? I could always eat their food but that seems wrong in so many ways. I now understand why we put a limit on canned cat food when we have a sale. The thought sickens me so at least I know I am still human. I feel down and out, but I can’t stop. I need help, but I don’t want it. I’m breaking down. I’m losing everything that I thought I had already lost. I’m hurt and alone, but I can’t stop. This is what it must be, what regret feels like. A harsh stab into the chest of nothingness. Tomorrow I’m going to try to sell some of my movies to a pawn shop or anyone who wants them. Nothing matters anymore, I just want the hunger pains to stop. I need them to stop. In the meantime however, I’ll just be thinking of the best way to serve my cats. Quickly realizing that there is no way or it would have already been done.
Paranoia is a Real Bitch
I feel as if I am going to vomit. But as in many cases where throwing up is a way to make it better this is not one of those cases. Vomiting right now would just make it worse. The nauseous feeling in my stomach is only making this trip go even worse than it’s already been. I’m lying in a fetal position on my dirty floor trying of all things to be sober, to make my mind fly straight. To be a normal human being, but only two snorts and a shot could make me feel such a way again. I took something really bad and it is fucking with my mind. I can see her watching me from the other side of the room. She is sitting on the edge of the bed naked with her legs spread. She looks like she is staring at me but she’s really looking past me. Past me, to the two guys she is about to suck and fuck right in front of me as if I am not there. As if she wants me to see this just so I know. I want this nightmare to end. The images play like a movie in my head that I can’t stop. I want to vomit but I can’t. I want it to end and it won’t. I begin to heave as she takes it from behind. Her widening smile as her body quivers with every thrust stabs like a knife. She gives off a silent giggle as she signals for the other man to join in. She looks me dead in the eyes as she takes the other man in her mouth. She is enjoying this and I want to die, and I can. I want her back, but I can’t. I finally vomit on the floor as I listen to her growing moans. I can’t take anymore. My eyes roll back in my head, and I black out. I’ve just survived my first encounter of why I should stop hurting myself.
I wake hours later to find myself lying in a pool of dried vomit. The smell is still strong as it brings me back to reality. The horrible film is no longer playing in my mind. I pick my head up off the floor and feel the blood rush back into my skull. My head is pounding, I can feel each heart beat pounding blood back into my brain. My mouth is dry, I reach for what’s left in the bottle next to me. The alcohol is bitter as it slides past my taste buds, burning my throat. I don’t know what I am doing anymore. I don’t understand what it was that I thought I had ever understood. I’m confused and I don’t know why. I feel myself wanting to get up, but I don’t move I just continue to stare at the wall and wonder why I do this to myself. Something is wrong, but I don’t want to admit it and I don’t want to succumb to it like I have with everything else in my life. I’m too proud to do anything about what I have made myself into. After what seems like hours of trying, I finally do get up, and I walk into the kitchen to get the dust pan. I clean up my mess from the night before and the days before that. My sobriety doesn’t last long however because with all things in my life my mind begins to slip back into my depression. I move as if I didn’t almost die. My life is in ruins yet somehow the drugs make it livable even if it just for one more day. I lay on the freshly stripped bed staring into the ceiling wondering how far off my vision from the night before is from the truth of what is going on. There is a theory that once two people are together long enough they begin to tap into some unexplainable plane of mind. The two beings begin to share pain or visions of thought. Is that what happened last night? Or was everything only in my mind? I try to push all the hurt away and call her again. I need her to answer. I need her now more than ever. The phone rings and rings, but no one answers. No one ever answers on the other end anymore. The madness grows like a scar over my mind. Harden, thick, but always destroyed, always ugly.