'15 minutes. It's all I'll give this blank page.'
My eyes keep looking at the clock. Moment of pauses are filled with the endless 'tick tick.'
'No. I will not stop this time. I've been doing this my whole life. Overthinking. Covering this trail to the golden mountain wit(more)h water breaks and 'what if' signs. It's time to hike. These 15 minutes of perseverance will give me a better appreciation of the view below, and one step closer to climbing the mountain of gold. Let's go. (less)
The road is so eerily quiet at this hour. Not a person has a destination, but road is still dully illuminated. My shadows would dance all around me going from lamppost to lamppost, bursting with life while the night seemed to have swallowed everything else. The now seems so(more) real when you're out of your comfort zone walking home at 3 am, half tipsy and stoned. Things seem to matter a little bit more. I wish I apologized more. I wish I wasn't such a condescending prick when everything seems so be going my way. I should tell my mom I love her more. Two lights point my way in the distance. I get off the road. Dog barks echo in silence. My heart begins to race even more as the rumbling of the car increases. Everything's getting more real by the second. I shouldn't be in the streets at this hour. I increase my pace. The car is closer now, my body is completely under its lights. I am engulfed by this moment. The car goes by, taking all of the uneasiness with it. I let out a sigh. I go home dancing with the shadows. I'll tell my mom I love her in the morning. (less)
I searched for words. Anything that could describe my existence, so I could have something more than what I am. My body is undergoing atrophy, and I feel as though every second I could be doing more, I could give more, a sea of could haves, should haves, and(more) would haves. Only, in this sempiternal story I always drown.
I see myself in the glass table as I reached to get my bottle. I normally seem to gather my thoughts better when drunk, but today everything seems blurry. I lay my head backwards on the couch and take a swig. It burns all the way down, just the way I like it. What was I doing again? Oh, yeah, finding my meaning. It's strange how my meaning is probably filed away somewhere in the vast universe of my brain, and how maybe in a thousand years we're going to be just that. Filed away in the history of the universe. I smile and lift my bottle to my empty, musty room. Here's to you, you little invisible molecules. You'll bounce around way longer than this piece of meat machine, but infinity seems to be knocking at both our doors, pal. I take a another swig. My brain feels very much alert now, a beautiful trick. I lay my body on the couch and stare at the patterns of the ceiling. Maybe there is some sort of logical scheme to this whole being alive thing. Maybe my brain is just to fucking stupid. Maybe...
I wake up. Square one. If I found any meaning at all it's probably hydrating myself for the next 10 minutes then making love to my hand.
I sit down on the couch and turn on the TV. I follow shows from time to time, I feel like those are the only real people in my life anymore. I put on 'friends.' Ah, that sweet feeling of living vicariously. I get as comfortable as possible as(more) to reduce the reminders of me being here. I laugh with the laugh track, I'm in the audience now! Safe and sound in New York!
End credits pop up on the screen. Feel like my fake life just died.
Quickly change the channel. News, too real. Zap. Golf, not enough to distract me. Zap. Reality show!! WOOHOO! what's
a mind of my own again?!
Went to a bar yesterday. Decided, fuck it, gotta meet someone new sometime, right? Sat and ordered whiskey on the rocks making no eye contact 'cause I have introvert on autopilot. Notice my reflection in a mirror behind the bar. Grey shadows lurk under my eyes. The bar is(more) empty, my thoughts are louder than the shitty country music playing on the jukebox. I down my drink. Start making more eye contact with my reflection. Realize a smile wants to emerge from my frown. I order another drink and flirt even more with this confusion. Why am do I feel like smiling when I usually just feel like shit. Haha it is kind of funny, though, how stupid melancholy people act. Cheer the fuck up or do something about it, right? Fag. Order more whiskey, smiling at the bartender this time. I suddenly seem taller in the mirror, feel like taking my confusion out for a candlelight dinner. The bar is still empty. Country music doesn't sounds all that bad anymore, I really hope Jolene doesn't take that that woman's man. Down my drink again, try not to make a sour face, then order another. Wonder what my grandma's doing at the moment. Feel like going home. Where is home? Fuck, Jolene, find your own man! Down my drink, it went down like water after exercising. Think about Hemingway. He survived two plane crashes and still had a final dance with suicide. Order another drink, cheers Ernest. Realize I'm tapping my hands to the beat of country music now. Down my drink. Feel like alcohol should be a religion. Pay my tab and head home. Wake up in front my laptop. There's porn on the screen. Cuddle with my suicidal thoughts 'till late afternoon.
I lift my hands after I let the razor fall, realizing I don't remember a thing before that. Small streams of crimson ran across my fingers and dripped to the floor. Droplets of relief, splashing in beautiful end.
The clock on the wall strikes 6pm. I've been drinkin(more)g since 10am today, the day I'll call my last.
The haze is becoming stronger now as I struggle to recall all of my experiences being alive. The smell of sunburned skin after skating. Waking up because the air-conditioning has been turned off to save electricity. Holding hand with a crush in the theaters.
My vision is getting blurrier so I rest my head next to the puddles of blood. Oh, how beautifully we rest.
I faintly recall being scared during storms. Or how I'd hurry to bed so Christmas could arrive sooner. My mom would buy us gifts for every occasion. I could feel her love lifting my spirit.
I open my eyes to a white ceiling. I turn my head slowly and see my mom sitting by the bed, eyes red with tears. I forgot how much I truly meant to her. The love of a mother and all its manifestations throughout my life. Her smell remind me of safety as I'm filled with the purest form of regret. I hold back tears and whisper with every bit of strength I could gather.
The sun dimmed. Everything was being covered by a sepia orange, as I buried my feet into the white sand. I'm so far away from the life I used to love, the life I would've died for. Things have its way of changing like that, I guess. I still(more) can't stop thinking about lucky we we were. How right now we still experience the same physical laws, breathe the same air, but search a different love. A soft melody of emotion curse through me, increase my breathing, play with my heart. My eyes have been drowned for way too long, all I have left is handful of memories. I grab my guitar. With a whisper I send them with the wind.
'A simple life, in youthful bliss
St Augustine envied
we had a childish bond he'd say
a lesson in time
I will never regret
I'll embrace the good with the bad
I wish we could just be cool.'
I keep telling myself to sit and write. To take time that will benefit my future self. 'I should live in the now,' a voice would argue in my head. I'd then begin procrastinating again, waking up in potato crumbs, with my hand in my pants.
(more) What the fuck am I doing? Go fucking write, you asshole.
I have a clear memory of home. A memory of a swing under an old tree, it's foundation worn from all the feet that we're bursting with childhood. I remember sitting in the back of a bus going from the city towards home; a golden sun making shadows on(more) our faces, while me and my brother dug for gum in my mom's purse. My brother and I would always fight, but with an everlasting love that only a broken home could provide. I still wake up sometimes hearing a whisper of my grandma praying in the next room. I'd sit at the edge of the bed and pray, thinking she's in her room doing the same.
'Swing life away,' rings over and over in my head as sit here, 24 years old, writing about the past. (less)
Tell me your suffering. Tell how it felt when she died, when he disappeared, when you found out the cancer spread. There isn't a clear path to walk, but confide in me, I will hold your hand. Explain every emotion, express them again. We all suffer differently, but I've(more) been there too. Let's go on pointless drives. Let's scream at the sky with all our might, and get drunk at 10 am. At the end, we are all lost and alone, so let's be just that.. together. (less)
I can't fly. Not that I've ever tried to know, but how society is convincing me to believe. There are people who are close, I see their wings, they're beautiful. I always assume they only fly when no else is looking. When I'm fixed on the squares of my(more) ceiling at night, when you're eyes are dancing in spreadsheets at work, they fly. I still believe I have the capabilities to grow wings, though, even when the world's gravity pulls so hard my feet hurt. Tomorrow I will go on a hill, I'd say sometimes. Maybe then my flying instincts will kick in. I can't fly, yet. 'Yet,' I'd tell myself when the squares of the ceiling fades into dreams. (less)
It was the warmest day of summer. A mother watches with dread as his son rides his bike on the sidewalk. It's been only the second time since he's out there alone, and without training wheels. He learned how to ride two days ago and hasn't looked backed since.(more) Every time a car goes by though, his mother's breath would stop. So when the warble of the birds were overcome by the horn of a semi, she not only dropped her mug but was immediately heading for the door. As she's reaching the door she hears a loud screeching of tires followed by a crash. Her heart starts to pound even harder now as she opens the door. To her relief, her son is standing there on the sidewalk, laughing, with a long belt with spikes in his hands. The belt is laid out on the street and blew the tires of the semi, which was now emitting smoke in a tree.