I thought… but I didn’t, really.
I’ve been here before, over and over. I repeat myself. I reread old entries, and it’s painful, the way memories skip and return, the way I struggle to keep the thread of my own life clear. The way the patterns play over and over.
…
I can’t. It isn’t working. There’s no water there, and if I dig deeper there’s only blood.
…
This is me.
It’s not an identity crisis, I’m just not happy.
It’s easier, when you find ways to distract yourself and forget. When you keep moving, the hours flow like a river and life’s a dream and every moment is perfectly pleasant and you don’t have to fix it, it’ll all be alright after a good night’s sleep, and you’ll do it again tomorrow, and again, and again.
Like your head against a wall, just another push and crack and snap, and it’ll all be over.
…
It rises up like black bile, and I know. I remember, the violence bursting forth.
It starts slow, the acrid seed of refusal. The quiet defiance, the little no, something tiny, something trivial. The half step short which slows the fragile cadence of the well-rehearsed life.
And the half step becomes a stop, and then the need to push back.
And all the while the poison waits. The savage whisper of sharp edges and irresistible force, of going until it snaps and rips and breaks away, and there’s nothing left to stop you.
Just a taste, just a moment, and it feels too good to ever stop.
Every indignity, annoyance, inconvenience, transgression, crime, attack must be avenged. Every moment is remembered in a heartbeat, and the pressure of every one all together explodes forth.
Every moment of pain, of frustration, of defeat can be erased, washed clean, with someone else’s blood. With splinters of wood and bone and metal.
…
I can’t do it.
I don’t know what else I’m supposed to try. I’m out of ideas, because this was supposed to work, and I don’t know what else there is.
Besides the sweet release of violence, of drowning in uncaring rage.
This is what I have, and I’m not really worried it isn’t enough. I’m worried that nothing else is.
Loading comments...