Life Goes On
You were never that good at finding things. It’s especially hard when you don’t know what you’ve lost. All you know is that something isn’t right-- a subtle shift laid down across your mind like a dark, wet blanket-- but it makes no difference. It’s beyond your control, as far away as anything else, and in the long run not worth any real concern to anyone. So you go tripping along, meandering through the day at a lazy pace that might normally suggest you were half-asleep. Maybe you never woke up to begin with.
You felt it that morning, lying in bed, listening to the music blare out of your alarm clock. It was the dry, suffocating heat of summer, even if you weren’t hot at all. Like a stuffy attic room, reeking of dust and the scent of rot, filled with boxes and boxes of junk you never managed to throw away. You can’t let go of that stuff, no matter how much you begin to hate it. You won’t. Best to just let it sit there, and try not to think about it.
The day goes on, dragging you with it through the hours. Before you know it, you’re back behind the wheel. You don’t need any music. You wouldn’t hear it anyway. You’re too far gone, submerged in some little place just shy of reality, not really qualifying as part of existence anymore, but somehow still there, right in the thick of things, thanks to some random loophole of circumstance. The world can go on around you. You don’t mind being in the way anymore.
Still, as far reaching as your apathy goes, you haven’t managed to convince yourself to accept things yet. Something has to help. You aren’t thirsty, but you drink. You aren’t hungry, but you eat. You aren’t depressed, but you cut. You aren’t tired, but you sleep.
Nothing can penetrate you. Escape isn’t all it’s cracked up to be anymore.
And now the day is over. You’ve gained nothing but the weight of needless consumption, and a few extra lines on your arm. You’ve lost nothing but another day. You aren’t any closer to filling that need. You still don’t know what’s missing. Another day closer to death, nowhere closer to living, and you can’t even manage to care.
You felt it that morning, lying in bed, listening to the music blare out of your alarm clock. It was the dry, suffocating heat of summer, even if you weren’t hot at all. Like a stuffy attic room, reeking of dust and the scent of rot, filled with boxes and boxes of junk you never managed to throw away. You can’t let go of that stuff, no matter how much you begin to hate it. You won’t. Best to just let it sit there, and try not to think about it.
The day goes on, dragging you with it through the hours. Before you know it, you’re back behind the wheel. You don’t need any music. You wouldn’t hear it anyway. You’re too far gone, submerged in some little place just shy of reality, not really qualifying as part of existence anymore, but somehow still there, right in the thick of things, thanks to some random loophole of circumstance. The world can go on around you. You don’t mind being in the way anymore.
Still, as far reaching as your apathy goes, you haven’t managed to convince yourself to accept things yet. Something has to help. You aren’t thirsty, but you drink. You aren’t hungry, but you eat. You aren’t depressed, but you cut. You aren’t tired, but you sleep.
Nothing can penetrate you. Escape isn’t all it’s cracked up to be anymore.
And now the day is over. You’ve gained nothing but the weight of needless consumption, and a few extra lines on your arm. You’ve lost nothing but another day. You aren’t any closer to filling that need. You still don’t know what’s missing. Another day closer to death, nowhere closer to living, and you can’t even manage to care.