The shadows moved like sunflower daydreams across the dull red woven carpet. I could hear a cricket chirping somewhere behind my sweaty back. It's tweets were off beat reminders of existence. This "living" room is not very well named. I don't do much of that here. I swat flies with windows open in the summertime. My dirty bathrobe and hospital slippers are grimy and worn from repeated sittings. I've started to drool. That never happened when I was young. When I still worked at the factory bending metal and driving men to quotas. I, I look at myself and think "what can I do, I'm getting old it's what happens, nature, that bitch, she drags us all down and you knew it would happen you son of a bitch! what can I do now!" Then I collapse into gas filled cushions and bury myself in a pixelated tomb while gorging on mounds of fabricated sustenance that fuel my endless desperation. What have we become.
I don't want to drink. I failed at drinking when my liver did not fail me. Oh, but I feel it's anguish deep inside. A throbbing hurt from abuse and neglect, the worst kind. I had felt my mind fading a long time ago. When I washed it further away with endless cycles of entertainment and living without being whole. I kept my optimism for so long. I kept my head up and my heart open, but the bitter dusts of dissatisfaction wore down on what can only be my soul. No tragic events, a life fruitless may be tragic itself although easy to control.
callouses and cars. Yard space and scars. distance without resistance. utter downfall.
I have eyes to see the complexities of the world and barely the mind to understand. nmbrs nd lttrs hve s mch spc btwn lrnng nd knwng nd jst bng. I have a tugging at the back of my neck from holding up a heavy head. Sleep, sweet sleep. Drown me and take me to the next step. The sun lightens the sky, shadows fade and die.