Wednesday February 23, 2011

The last time I wrote anything was over fifteen months ago. Since then, I became obsessed with the ghost of my ex-girlfriend, got engaged to another, lost our baby, and left my place of residence for the last eight years. There are too many lonely roads and too much death. My next door neighbour died the other day. Died while talking on the phone. One minute she was alive, then the next just a corpse, all bloated and rigid, tongue swollen with no more goodbyes left to be said. Every time I close my eyes, I think of what shouldn’t be there, landscapes that drift around, old embraces tighter than infinity. I’ve given up smoking of sorts, down to just a few a week. Given up drinking wine as well. The time when I drank a bottle a day for months on end a thing of the past. Energy drinks too. There’s nothing left; I’ve given up everything I like. Even masturbation isn’t as good as it used to be. Too forced, too flimsy. Porno too cheap, with women who don’t do what they used to. I’m not really here. Yesterday holds too much for me. If I got myself back to a time from before, to a time when she waited for me on eager hips, everything would be okay. I buried my child on a cold and windswept day, buried her until she wasn’t there, and now she’s haunting me, just like the rest. Memories of lost summers; lost journeys of days when tomorrow never came. I’m on fire. I’ve stopped watching those videos too, the ones where people meet their makers. Beheadings, sliced and diced and disappeared out of existence. There’s nothing left of me anymore except for words and memories. Sickly words, stories, James and his portal, the girl that would be my own, but now she’s his instead. He’s on fire too, because everything I don’t feel, he has to instead. Might go down to the shop, buy some beer. Said I wouldn’t, said it would be a weekly treat, but I think it needs to be done. No cigarettes, and no battery acid. Watched some porno, was awful, too many dead children swimming in the oblivion of a waste paper bin. I’ll try and write when I get back, that’s if my brain functions, and I don’t get too restless. Midgets dancing, girls, dreams of old houses. Where did all the love go? Drinking water to stop myself from growing tired, I’ve got this burn, and it keeps me up all night, it’s a demon in my chest. Blood flowing down the pavement, worms and kids. No more snow left to make interesting days, and not enough rain. Only masks and century-old trees to keep me company.

3 replies »

  1. Too much to comprehend, fathom and understand….but pulling for you to get through it, even if only for a hour’s worth of peace. I understand the drinking part. I made a good promise to myself to limit the intake….it’s the only crutch I held onto, now in just smaller doses.

    • Thank you my friend. This was written a few years ago now, so things aren’t quite so desperate. Writing has given my life a purpose, and the drink not quite so much of an issue. I’m still fucking up relationships, but two out of three isn’t bad, right?

  2. uhmm….this writing me reminds me of a movie i just recently watched, or tried to watch three times as the movie sucked me in too strong in the lonely mood i had to stop. The movie called “Love. i have probably never really suffered such deep pain that haunts me. Amazing to think how deep we can really attach to something/someone else.
    Good to know you survived the pain, it makes you who you are. the pain i suppose is necessary. Hugs!

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