Hue of resolution
Darkness fills in the blanks unsuccessfully as i open my eyes in the unlit corner of the unlit room. It's the christmas season, but it certainly doesn't feel like it. Especially not with this dreaded substance running through my veins, up into my brain, and all throughout my being, warming all of me. Whatever this life-giving and destroying poison gives to my body and brain, it steals from my soul. Just a simple transfer of funds. Take from a savings account and switch to a spending account. The rate of return is terrible. I clean up the rivulet of blood, just to fool myself into looking halfway respectful and sentient. Things are starting to fall apart and the paint layered over it all flakes off in strips. Strips that betray the underneath covered up. There's the lost job, the sold car, the sold guitar, the lost girl, the other lost girl, the lack of connection with other human beings. Existing and not existing have blurred together into some sort of sick satire of each other.
I clean off my works, store them away until the next time the sick devil on my shoulder needs feeding. It actually shouldn't be too far off, i should just leave them out.
Whenever i sleep, my sins haunt my dreams. They come in the form of my ex-wife. They look like my dead kid. That damn bastard had to go die and destroy our relationship. I guess i can't blame the kiddo. He seemed like he might have been smart. Smart like his old man. Just what the world needs, another tragedy. Nightmares are par for the course; I find myself more afraid at the dreams where i dont die, where someone tells me to live. I wake up cold in sweat, trying to figure out what it means. What the fuck does it mean? what the fuck do they want me to do? I'm done already. I've had enough. A little taste of the savior poison fixes me, and i nod off again into my usual, restless sleep.
Fuck, alcoholics have all the luck.
I clean off my works, store them away until the next time the sick devil on my shoulder needs feeding. It actually shouldn't be too far off, i should just leave them out.
Whenever i sleep, my sins haunt my dreams. They come in the form of my ex-wife. They look like my dead kid. That damn bastard had to go die and destroy our relationship. I guess i can't blame the kiddo. He seemed like he might have been smart. Smart like his old man. Just what the world needs, another tragedy. Nightmares are par for the course; I find myself more afraid at the dreams where i dont die, where someone tells me to live. I wake up cold in sweat, trying to figure out what it means. What the fuck does it mean? what the fuck do they want me to do? I'm done already. I've had enough. A little taste of the savior poison fixes me, and i nod off again into my usual, restless sleep.
Fuck, alcoholics have all the luck.