I’ve been loathing myself for too long,
in dark crevasses of my mind
shying away from light,
I’ve let these thoughts grow like a cancer
burning, consuming, eating away
at my fragile conscience,
an ever increasing void
that brims with your sickness
i feed on what you give me
and what you give me feeds on me,
your indifference makes my soul cringe
but longs for your warmth, now long gone.
the clock is ticking on the wall,
the sun goes down, leaving shadows behind
betraying light slowly fading away,
and now darkness is, and still the clock ticks.
time is running out and leaves my soul crying,
trapped between what should be and what is,
abandoned by everything except your dreams,
the clock is not your enemy, you are.
is someone else how you want to be?
stumble and fall and get up crying,
walking through this senseless maze,
your essence trailing behind you, fading.
scattered and disconnected and lost in the cosmos,
beautifully dense mind, pitifully empty heart
nothing sets you on fire anymore
nothing calls you out anymore.
endless rancid pits of negativity and disgust
visions of elevation wake you up from restless sleep
only to despair at it’s falsity
and you hear the clock ticking in the darkness.
He looked over the sparkling city skyline and smiled. The night was chilly and his breath mixed with the cigarette smoke left long trails.
He was on the balcony on a skyscraper, high enough to hear nothing of the noises far below, high enough to peacefully meditate on the distant building lights, those dream like apparitions. Lights meant life and life meant stories, and at least a few of them worth listening.
But tonight he was content, tonight he was at peace with not knowing and not wondering.
He observed his mind, waiting to see if it would come up with something to say. Nothing. Nothing at all.
He chugged his drink down, stubbed the cancer stick out and lit another. Still nothing.
Smiling into the night he continued gazing at the lights, glazed eyes reflecting, watching, observing.
High school was two years ago. Through the haze of pot smoke and alcohol fumes we’d made it out of that place and had no idea that the summer ahead would change some of us forever. At days we smoked and drank beer and at nights we smoked and drank some more. But it was the nights that were beautiful. Someone would sneak out their dad’s car and we’d move through the city, the lights from tall buildings flashing across our glazed eyes as we made our way through the city’s veins. We’d go to abandoned parking lots, old buildings, and lake sides where others like us hung out. People our age, doing these we did. There were the wannabe hippies, the wannabe gangsters, the wannabe models, and then there were the ones who didn’t really want to be anything. It was hard to judge which kind was worse, but that wasn’t a problem because no one really cared. I met a girl in a place like that once and she told me she wanted to groom horses for a living and write a book about them. I liked her. She had the familiar glassy look in her eyes and she smiled easy. she also had cuts on her arm, some of them fresh. she said when she liked how it felt when she bled herself. I never asked her name or number and i never saw her again, but i can smell her hair on cloudy days and how it felt on my neck as our bodies moved in divine rhythm in a smelly washroom at the back of the abandoned stadium. We laughed a lot that summer, and it wasn’t entirely the pot’s fault. We laughed because we were there. A part of a generation that would fade into oblivion just like every other but in that moment we were there. And we lived, and we loved and we laughed and we didn’t care about much. By the end of that summer some would leave, to college, to places, and some would stay. Some of us still meet when i go home and we laugh and we love and we live but there’s something left behind. Something that had to go, something we were stupid enough to think would last forever. We don’t talk about it but we see it in each other’s eyes as we say our goodbyes and go back to our lives and to our devices. I still think of that summer. Those uneventful 2 months that somehow changed our lives. But we don’t talk about it.