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| "The light of friendship draws ever so near..." |
November 26th, 01.45am.
I am awake.
As my friends sleep and my peers lie ignorant, I am awake.
Why?
It is not the undercurrent of apathy that awakes me. Nor is it my mistress under the desk. It is the utter futility of anything I seem to do that keeps me from sleep's embrace.
It's a simple case of one step forward -
And two steps back.
Life has lost its color - gray is all which pervades my vision.
I have friends - many great people who I wish to see once more this week. But the others, they're laughing, doubling over in twisted paroxysms of mockery and derision. I can see it in their eyes.
The light of friendship draws ever so near, only to be swept away from me in an instant.
It is a candle - a dim, nearly burnt-out candle, waiting to be swept away and annexed by the darkness inside.
There are exceptions... exceptions who I deeply care about. But those exceptions know who they are. All the others have turned against me, I am certain.
You're not psychic, you know.
What?
You're not psychic. You can't possibly know what they are thinking, can you?
Perhaps. What happened to the other one?
Fell asleep - it's just you and me.
Not for long; I'm heading off too, you know.
Before you go - just listen.
What you're doing, the self-harm, it will not help.
Yes, you derive pleasure and it shuts out the pain, but it is a temporary fix, a Band-Aid which will fall. And as the wound gets worse, you'll be doing it more.
And then, one day, you'll cut too deep. Blood will rupture, and you will try and hide your work. You may succeed, but how far are you willing to go?
How far are you willing to hurt yourself in search of control?
I understand how you feel - I'm part of you, after all. Just remember, you're not alone.
Remember what your friend said; you don't have to face this alone.
...
Goodnight.
...
November 26th, 3.00am.
My faculties begin to droop.
Vision blurs.
Reality fades.
I sink into bed, ready to enter the ever-shifting, mercurial wonderland that is my dream.
Either that, or simply nothing - drifting in darkness until I wake, ready to repeat another day all over again.
People go about their lives, nattering their pretty little heads about any issue that does not require one iota of intellectual thought, and thus, I sit alone.
Slouched on a weathered wooden bench, I sit, pondering tales of past, present and future.
Dwelling in self-pity is easy to do when the fog of apathy clouds your mind.
I could ask people for advice, but it'd be the same generic bullshit as always:
"Get over yourself!"
"Stop being a pussy!"
"Man up!"
Of course, it's easier for them to condemn the problem rather than do something about it - condemnation takes no effort at all and instills people with a false sense of intellectual superiority. Lucky them, eh?
My mistress never says a word. All I have to do is move my wrist, and she obeys, tentatively turning my skin a burgundy red, leaving her scarlet trails all over my body.
It is the perfect arrangement. And the best part is: I am in control.
No-one can say otherwise.
November 26th, 19.00pm.
Still in control.
Still in control.
Still in control -
Cut. Slice into the flesh, let the blood flow.
Why?
Why not? It's what keeps you sane - that, and it keeps me in check too.
Go away. You're causing nothing but trouble.
You may be listening to the other one, but let me tell you; what makes you think he won't send you down dead ends, just like he did before when you were in love?
...
Cut. Let your art take over - let your canvas run red.
...
You know you want to. Show everyone who you really are, but not yet - wait for the moment to reveal itself.
Maybe. For now, you and the other one can go - I have business to attend to.
My canvas is red, my brush is crimson
Tinted with shame, congealing with the arisen
Thoughts and feelings which permeate my skin
Fail to silence the ever-growing din
Flesh and metal interlock, in twisted, saccharine embrace
Lost in my mind, lost inside this maze
Of pain and misery and nightmarish visions
Nothing I can do; 'cept await the oncoming collisions
My peers, they all turn and snicker
Behind my back, they quietly shout "He's a fucking nigger!"
I know they speak of me, but their voices are silent
At least until I turn; then things get violent
I lack the courage, the strength, the valor to fight these wars
Instead, all I can do is watch as the demons slam these doors
Of friendship and love straight into my face
I fall into the abyss; the end to my eldritch race.
Image of candle: http://acropolis.org.in/mumbai/articles/13-new-horizons-on-strange-tides
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