Why did I even come here? It surely wasn’t for the great fucking scenery that’s for sure. I really can’t answer the question I am faced with every morning I look out the window of my house. This town is a dying community of people still trying to hold on to a time that was better than this. And I am here to say that there is no such thing. I think it is easier for this town to not believe in reality. Too just spread the lies as each generation keeps dropping out. The town is broke, hell the whole region is, we carry a city on our backs, and float in shit waiting to hear how the state government will fuck us over again. This town is caught between fucked and truly fucked. What’s left of the jobs not sent to China are actually being run by people who aren’t even from this area. The people with all the money, the rich, are all from other parts of America, and they don’t stay long after realizing just how decrepit this town has become. The rest of America is under the impression that when you live in New York you live in the city with all the bright lights and all of the future at your feet. When in truth the city is only five hours away, but it feels more like it is on the other side of the world. Jamestown is worlds apart from what other people think of New York and some days it feels light years away from where I am anymore. Why am I here? Why is anyone here?
I pick at a scab on my hand and it starts to bleed. It starts to bleed a little bit and then it begins to bleed a little bit more and then a little bit more. The blood dripping, flowing down my finger and finding its way into the palm of my hand. The scab was once a blister that I tore. The blister is from the last time I played drums. It had been a while since I played drums and the calluses that once proved I was good at something have long disappeared. Why did I move here? Better yet why did she move us here? That’s right she wanted to come here it was all her choice after I told her what my mom said. It was her suggestion that we come and then she was gone. She threw me aside like a piece of rotten meat. Why did I move here? Why did I move anywhere? The cigarette I have been smoking is slowly making its way to my fingers and I know I should put it out, but I just stare at it. I can feel the warmth of the fire burning within the cigarette, proof that I can at least feel something. The drug store bandage that once covered the scab I just can’t stop picking lies on the dirty floor next to last night’s attempt to forget just what is wrong with me. My floor is littered with dirty clothes and trash, I realize yet again I have let myself go.
Tomorrow classes start back up at the local community college and I must return to further prove nothing is really wrong. If there is one thing I hate it is that fucking school. Why did I move back here? So I could complete college after dropping out of the last one due to a lack of interest. Now the only way I can make it through a single class is to numb myself into a coma. At least the drugs are good for something. The blood is nearly dry in the palm of my hand and I begin to pick at the trail of dried blood. The blood falls off my skin like little red snowflakes. It’s four a.m. and I have my first class in less than six hours. I move from the chair in the dining room to my bed that I moved into the living room. My pillow smells like months of sweat and there are white mucus trails all over it. I flip my pillow over to the other side and realize I’ve already done that before. The breaks over and now I must return to hell. Tomorrow will be the same as the last.
Orginally from A Lie…