Sometimes the cloudiness in my head will pass. Sometimes even for a minute long. The alcohol may have a thing or two to do with it. I guess I'll never know. The cocaine; well that's bonus. The smoking goes without saying at this point. It's my anchor to a time when every motherfucker didn't interfere with righteous self-harm. I guess if I'm spreading my cancerous cloud into unwilling lungs they're owed a thought or two in response. But in my own domain? In the confines of my body? What right do you have to interfere? You may bring up the dead prostitute laying to my right in response yet I will respond right back at you that she's owed her self harm, too. Loneliness will do that to a person, to all people, myself and the dearly, recently, deceased both. I'm not sure what happened. One minute we were having fun pleasuring each other with breaks for shots and joints. The next she fell asleep. That permanent, dreamless sleep. It's like the strongest of anaesthetics. You can never quite tell when you lose consciousness or when you gain it, except you never gain it. Well I guess the foreverness of that never is debatable, based on in what you believe. What do I believe? I believe it doesn't matter. We all try to hide our loneliness from the moment we are born, and cry for the comfort and warmth of a mother to the moment we die, crying for the comfort and warmth of our mother. The middle is optional; a side quest in our story of existence. Months and years go by like the sweet melody of the melancholic blues. Relationships begin and end as if they were nothing. Like it didn't matter at all. But it does. It always does until it doesn't and it always doesn't, in the end. Oh the end. That sweet, sweet end. Fear of dying has grown to absorb the fear of death itself but death is not frightful. There is comfort in knowing that no matter what you go through while alive, what people and Earth take from you, you're death can never be taken away. It is your right as a being to die and no government no partner no business no emotion can take that from you. There is comfort in death. Loss, on the other hand is rarely comforting. The dead prostitute to my right, though I only knew her for 6 or so hours, still draws tears of sadness from my eyes. I don't know why, I don't know how but I'm crying and I cannot stop. No sounds or whimpers only the sound of silence accompany them, and her. Oh her. What was her name? Cinderella? Belle? Beauty? Either way the princess never found Mr Charming. It seems he eluded her.
blakekathryn
tangentwithtanner
origamiaround
pixelskylines
vaporwave
stormborns
2087
