(no subject)
I was taking pills to help me stay asleep because the monsters keep waking me up. Monsters in business suits holding briefcases and shoving dollar bills in my mouth. Pregnant monsters in wedding dresses holding brooms and sack lunches telling me it's all going to be okay. Now I'm taking drugs that are keeping me awake long enough so I can become a monster too. Someday soon I'll be just like you. Oh Daddy, won't I ever grow up big and strong like you? Tonight I'll take another pill and dream of being a man.
My eyes open and I'm on my back trying to resist the urge to grind my teeth as a great big machine spins violently around my head. "Sir, please keep your head straight. Try not to move," the nurse recited. It is a true test of my patience to stand still while the rest of the world falls apart around me. Be a man, I tell myself. I stare straight ahead as instructed, forcing my eyes not to drift with the world spinning around my head.
I open my eyes again and her eyes are staring back at mine. I close my eyes tight. Perhaps I'm not so ready to be a man.
I cautiously open my eyes again and I'm not sure where exactly I am. The room's a mess but there's culture here. It's as if the owner of this room never threw anything away. Simply piled all of these things up. Things with meaning. Things without meaning. I picked up each piece of the puzzle and imagined its purpose. I smelt your clothes to find out where you had been. When you came through the door I had already learned all there is to know about you. But what do you know about me? He looked back at me but I couldn't meet his eyes. They were studying me like I had studied his possessions. Afraid that he would learn too much, I closed my eyes again.
With a great crash I open my eyes. Everywhere around me, papers are flying in the air. My co-workers are all scrambling for their paychecks and reports as the building I'm in is falling to the ground. This office was built to be neat and orderly. And here it is in complete chaos. Everyone is screaming. I look to the window and see all the other buildings rushing up past ours. I walk back to what is left of my cubicle, sit down at my desk, and have a sip of my coffee.
"We're here." I open my eyes and stretch my legs. I can see the mountains ahead through the windshield. It's raining hard on the roof of the jeep. My hands reach the handle and my fingers linger for a moment before I decide to open the door. "You didn't think we were going to make it," she says. I stop for a moment, frustrated with this truth. She sees all my faults no matter how hard I try to hide them. Not wanting to turn a good moment bad, I avoid conversation and go for the door again but I hear it lock. I sigh and fold my arms. "Fine. Go." Another click and I push the door open and welcome the rain. I look up for the sun in the clouds but only see white.
I open my eyes but I can't see. It's pitch black and my pupils haven't adjusted yet. I'm in your bed, I can tell because it smells like you and the sheets are scratchy. I can hear something moving in the corner of the room. When my eyes finally adjust I can make out your body's shape getting dressed. You move over to the mirror and force a smile. I bet you think you look pretty with that smile on your face. How long can you wear that big plastic smile, baby? Before you turn around, I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep.
I raise my head and open my eyes. Amen, I whisper. I prayed but you didn't listen today. You never listen. Perhaps I put too much faith in you. I slump down in the pew and force my gaze upon a crucifix, reminding me of the price of faith. I really believed that if I left town everything would be better. I straighten my tie a bit and catch a glimpse of your casket being carried away. Put your faith in a fantasy and you'll be disappointed. Put your faith in an escape and you'll come home crying. I rub my eyes.
But his time I don't open them.
My eyes open and I'm on my back trying to resist the urge to grind my teeth as a great big machine spins violently around my head. "Sir, please keep your head straight. Try not to move," the nurse recited. It is a true test of my patience to stand still while the rest of the world falls apart around me. Be a man, I tell myself. I stare straight ahead as instructed, forcing my eyes not to drift with the world spinning around my head.
I open my eyes again and her eyes are staring back at mine. I close my eyes tight. Perhaps I'm not so ready to be a man.
I cautiously open my eyes again and I'm not sure where exactly I am. The room's a mess but there's culture here. It's as if the owner of this room never threw anything away. Simply piled all of these things up. Things with meaning. Things without meaning. I picked up each piece of the puzzle and imagined its purpose. I smelt your clothes to find out where you had been. When you came through the door I had already learned all there is to know about you. But what do you know about me? He looked back at me but I couldn't meet his eyes. They were studying me like I had studied his possessions. Afraid that he would learn too much, I closed my eyes again.
With a great crash I open my eyes. Everywhere around me, papers are flying in the air. My co-workers are all scrambling for their paychecks and reports as the building I'm in is falling to the ground. This office was built to be neat and orderly. And here it is in complete chaos. Everyone is screaming. I look to the window and see all the other buildings rushing up past ours. I walk back to what is left of my cubicle, sit down at my desk, and have a sip of my coffee.
"We're here." I open my eyes and stretch my legs. I can see the mountains ahead through the windshield. It's raining hard on the roof of the jeep. My hands reach the handle and my fingers linger for a moment before I decide to open the door. "You didn't think we were going to make it," she says. I stop for a moment, frustrated with this truth. She sees all my faults no matter how hard I try to hide them. Not wanting to turn a good moment bad, I avoid conversation and go for the door again but I hear it lock. I sigh and fold my arms. "Fine. Go." Another click and I push the door open and welcome the rain. I look up for the sun in the clouds but only see white.
I open my eyes but I can't see. It's pitch black and my pupils haven't adjusted yet. I'm in your bed, I can tell because it smells like you and the sheets are scratchy. I can hear something moving in the corner of the room. When my eyes finally adjust I can make out your body's shape getting dressed. You move over to the mirror and force a smile. I bet you think you look pretty with that smile on your face. How long can you wear that big plastic smile, baby? Before you turn around, I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep.
I raise my head and open my eyes. Amen, I whisper. I prayed but you didn't listen today. You never listen. Perhaps I put too much faith in you. I slump down in the pew and force my gaze upon a crucifix, reminding me of the price of faith. I really believed that if I left town everything would be better. I straighten my tie a bit and catch a glimpse of your casket being carried away. Put your faith in a fantasy and you'll be disappointed. Put your faith in an escape and you'll come home crying. I rub my eyes.
But his time I don't open them.