Empty

song

As I reach up grasping for the last ounce of strength after having been spent for months, my brain sends the message but my arms remain firmly (although reluctantly) fused to the fake splintered wood linoleum floor. At last, no more reason: only the primal side remains.

Years… years! Ask yourself one question that every mad man does and you will too: where did the time go?

Slipping now through the hideous floor I can’t help but want to take it all back: all the indecision and wasting precious memory cascaded in innumerous regret. If there was any doubt, let me put a stop to that now: the last thing you see before you reach the other side are your kids…

That was (of course) a lie. The last thing a narcissist sees is themselves. Of course! Why am I the only one to blame here?

-switch-

I drift slightly higher than what I would feel normally feel comfortable with on any given day. I drift in such a way that bricks don’t. In fact, I normally wouldn’t feel anything all. Indubitably, the nothingness that remains is the product between primordial and coping with the thought of being hurt again. I choose to feel and remember nothing. I have done it for so long that when the best thing to have ever happened to a single human being (like Eve to Adam) happened to me, it is all lost in the self doubt and pity I accompany myself in daily. How can I explain it better? No matter because I can finally take comfort in the nicrophorus vespillo and the lumbricus terrestris converting my body into something useful: shit and dirt.