April 7th, 2010by Haunts All

Every day it calls me, but I am too much of a scared coward to answer.  I know it’s calling but I refuse to pick up.  I’m
scared I tell you, like a beast shaking in fear looking bright-eyew into the moonlight.  Then I feel bad all the time afterwords for being so afraid to pick up.  I’m scared because I know that I’m going to answer my calling.  It’s not a matter of if it’s a matter of when.  No one hears me, no one listens, the economy stole their ears and minds, they’re so enraged they couldn’t stop to hear, to share, they aren’t really living, they are sick in their delusion.  They can’t have a heart to heart.  My God do I ever miss real conversations, the ones I used to have with my brother, the only person who ever understood.  There was never any bullshit, zero tolerance, when I discovered that apple seeds contained cyanide I went to the store and bought pounds of apples, we both sat at the park bench table picking the seeds out of the apples and putting them to the side.  I was suicidal and he was helping me end it, he knew that I would’ve anyways so why not help out.  I drink all the time now, I can’t get drunk any more, it’s the strangest thing, two 40s and a bottle of jack later, no buzz, just anger.  It’s been this way for 15 years, but more so now, much more so.  What’s the use.  I don’t want to talk to any teenagers, I am not a good influence, they might have another chance, to have all their brains and to have every lamb, I suppose I type pretty well, it doesn’t mean anything.  All I see is red flames flickering behind a wall of light blue ice.  What is going to be your fucked up interpretation, burn it, but I’ll interpret it, if you’re not on this page you should turn it.  It’s the Gas that calls me, and lately it feels ignored, neglected, I can feel it staring at me in some strange way, it’s starting to get pissed off.  I could throw it all to the winds, every thought and care, become a barefoot monk in a monastery, one bowl, one spoon, making rounds for alms, watering the garden, contemplating the silence, the stillness, the flowers blowing in the breeze, embracing the slow until my body slowly decays over the passing years, to what end, to what point, feeding my face like a selfish animal, inhaling some more oxygen like a pig, let me take a huge breath, another huge breath, listen to me snort it all up my nose, I want it all for myself, must survive at all costs, what a joke.  Nevermind that every second ticks pain.  I hear about these people who were brave enough to do it, this person’s dad ran the car unto his end, all these people who did it, millions, they took the drive to nowhere and did it, took their last breath, lucky bastards, some brave motherfuckers I tell you, I envy them, they were too good for me.  Why couldn’t I have met them, and said I hear you brother, it’s just the way it goes sometimes, all things must come to an end.  I’m not romanticizing it, I’m me but I am afraid.  Beyond help now, thanks for the 1-800-number, I ‘ll be sure to call it first thing *throws number in the can* don’t bother talking me back, your efforts would be in vain, don’t form a bond don’t get attached, oh I’m much worse in person.  In text I am not me really, these transcripts are edited for a PG-13 audience, edited to keep big brother happy.  The method is always nearby you should sleep now, but my dreams lately scare me, they are not right, the devil wishing he was me mindraping myself for a
schoolteacher tenure in another dream gone way sideways, awry, mercilessly belligerent.  The only place for me is the mental institution, did  Isee it coming haHA!, I suppose I did know, the memory sparks I knew it when I was young, I did see it coming, so did our whole apartment complex, they heard the screams and banging of the nuclear family, the devil had entered that home, honey I think we should move, I just can’t take the stress, can we prey for those psychos.  Only problem is they don’t exist, not really, no more proper institutions, gardens and fountains and therapuetic environs, like the ones Van Gogh painted, the ones he stayed at, the nice one Helfgott was in.  They’re just not around any more, not enough funding I guess, shove them in the county jail now, yeah that will help their minds, just give them the magic pill, what a joke.  This society has become a world that isn’t even a world.  My soul is still back there someplace, hiding on the top bunk, the one with the ac blasting down onto the bed even though it’s the dead, of winter perhaps our agony is the answered prayers, the spirits of natives long ago, getting their revenge on us for their being slaughtered, you didn’t do it though I didn’t, did it trickle down punished tenfold, I don’t know, all I know is they must be laughing their asses off at us, maybe not, they probably had have more compassion.  They don’t have to if I judge myself, I deserve death, I will never forgive myself for my errors in life and nothing you say could ever change the reality of that.  I ramble like a dumbshit, I’m just another one of “them” of you, of us.  I’m like a braindamaged leaf, with a medal pinned for throwing the javelin the furthest through the special olympics.  God help us all if He exists, I hope He wont be too mean to me.  I am scared now, I envy those who have already completed the path.  Brave bastards, or was it living that was more scary?  Sort of numb to both sides now, I forgot what I’m doing here, I came to get away from something I just don’t remember what, whatever it was I’ll bet it was bad.  My final thought might be my final thought.

Processing your request, Please wait....