Reflection

I didn’t know who I was
Or why I was even there
In the strangest of places
Where dreams took form
And vanished into thin air

I poked and prodded
As fantasies took flight
Clueless as ever I was
Lost in my own mind
Hidden in plain sight

Answers I had found
To questions never asked
My demons, they ran circles
Around me, sniggering
And hinting at the past

Then ego and will walked
Right into my head
From where they’d come
Or why they chose me
Couldn’t be said

As memories flooded in
Flowers withered as they grew
It dawned upon me
That I’d been remade
Hardly as good as new

My limbs moved with purpose
To where I knew nought
Time let go of itself
As it ticked away
Making sure I forgot


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Its been ages.
A little experiment with a rhyme scheme.

My Friends

Buzz
I've got used to the bugs. They're my friends now. Maybe I should name them. Hmm.
But they all look the same.
They came around a month ago.From between the cracks i the padding. They dont hurt me,they're quite alright. I think. I miss friends. There were loads of them outside. They can't always be trusted. I hope the bugs can. I don't want to not trust them.
They're nice and green.
They help me keep awake. Even after the food with the pills in it. Its nice of them. Isn't that what friends are for, to look out for you, and not put you away in white rooms. No.
The bugs know, that if I sleep, its not good. I haven't slept in three months. Impressive hunh! And the last time was only for an hour or so. Its like I've rewired myself. I had to.

Buzz.
Hello there!
You look nice. Different. Shiny! Theres a word for it. Iridescent! I used to have a lighter that looked like you. You should be named. You deserve it. I shall call you, um, hmm, aha! I shall call you Ephemeral. You are now Ephemeral I Bug. Like it?
You look like a nice fellow. Will you be my best friend? Ephemeral I Bug? Will you?

Buzz.
I'll take that as a yes. You won't tell me to sleep will you? Your not like one of those humbugs are you? Like those outside.
Should we seal the deal on our friendship? I'll let you in on a secret. That will make us best friends for sure!

Buzz.
What secret? Well, its about dreams.

Buzz?
Is that why I don't sleep? Come on Ephemeral, don't ask such silly questions. You know your smarter than that. My friends are always smart. Other than the humbugs. Bah! Humbugs.

Buzz.
The secret? Oh, I almost forgot we were talking about it. Yes, the secret. You know I don't sleep because of the dreams. But the dreams, they arent nightmares, or even bad dreams.

Buzz.
No I'm not messing with you. I wouldn't do that. Your my best friend Ephemeral I Bug. I have the nicest dreams ever or had, rather. Still might, if I sleep. But we're not going to let that happen are we?

Buzz.
Yes? The dreams? They were always about nice and happy things. But they were lies. All lies.
I would always see what could've and what should've been. So pretty, so nice.
So untrue.

Buzz.
So? Sleeping was alright. Dreaming was nice. It was the waking up that hurt. I like mornings. Mornings bring eggs on toast, baco and fresh coffee. Hmm, bacon.
I couldn't have the waking up ruin my mornings. Or my day for that matter. I really like mornings.

Buzz.
Come on, Ephemeral, join the dots. If I woke up every morning, feeling how I did, after seeing all those nice, beautiful things, what would've been the simplest way out? Comprende?

Buzz.
Et Voila! You got it. I stopped sleeping. It was so simple. Its funny it took me so much to figure it out. But it's worked beautifull hasnt it. Dont you think so?
You understand. Your my best friend Ephemeral.

Buzz.
Enough with the talking now. Do you play an instrumen Ephemeral? We could start a band. Or just sing. Im tired of singing to myself.

Buzz.
You like my voice! You're too kind.
What would you like me to sing?
Wait, I'll choose. Have you heard this one. It's one of my favourites.

“If I were a swan
I'd be gone
If I were a train
I'd be late
And if I were a good man
I'd talk with you more often than I do”

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Be kind.
Now Playing : Guess?
Now Reading : Salivahanan.
Now Recovering from : Holy Wars!

Poetriness

She comes to me
I chase her away

She evades me
My eyes burn bright red

She caresses me
I dream in peace

She embraces me
I sleep endlessly

_________________________________________________________
Cough Cough.

Ive been sleeping a lot lately. Snapped out of it today.
Cleaned my room, but there's nothing to do in there.

What a Wonderful World

You know what I'm talking about, don't you Pops. You must've seen it or felt it or something. You have, haven't you?
Yes, the balance, that's what I call it. I knew you'd know of it. I knew you'd understand. I grew quite tired of it, really tired of it, that's why I'm here in front of you right now.

You don't mind me talking bout it? Why that is just so kind. Mind you, I do tend to drag on a bit.

My life wasn't very bad. Quite comfortable, by most standards. But I could see, quite early actually, that there was a law, a balance as I've come to call it. I could take it, back in another time, it was bearable. Quite simple actually, hard work bore fruit, slacking off didn't. For each time I did something wrong, in my own eyes, the guilt would kill me, and if not that some sort of karma would. And it applied everywhere. Quite a simple give and take. I could live with that.

But then, life happened. And took it's toll. You know how it is. My eyes were opened, what you call reefer, might have helped too, heheh.

But drugs aside, for now, I did see, quite clearly, how the balance was skewed for most other people. There were but a few others who had been dealt a fair deal. For most it was all wrong. Not really something I could live with. But worse of all, were those whose scales tipped in favour. You suffered from it too, didn't you. Sensitivity came at quite a high price didn't it Pops.
Ha!

I know, I know, it all sorts itself out in the Universal Scheme of Things. But sometimes the bloody Universe doesn't give a shit about you and me, pardon my French.

I'm glad you understand. It really relieves me. So I have you with me on this, don't I?

Well, two ampoules of Grade A Ketamine did the trick. I was out of there before my body knew it was going to bite the dust. Yeah, it did take a while to find you, but that don't matter no more , do it? Heheh!

Pointless? No, I'm not done yet. I did say I tend to drag on a bit, sorry about that.
Well, I left a letter. For once, I did think things through, quite well actually. When they found me, as I was on my way, they saw the letter. So, they called her.
What? Haha, yeah, it all comes down to a woman doesn't it? Well, I needed to do my bit to set the balance right.
I don't like watching people suffer, who does? But I needed to watch sorrow and pain rend her apart as my body lay, hanging on to those last few breaths. I needed it. She needed it too. I never meant her no harm. Believe me Pops.

Well, that was the final weight on the scales. I'm somewhere else now, where the balance doesn't matter, out of the ruddy scheme to say. For better or for worse, I don't know, don't care either.

So, what do you think? Actually, don't tell me. Doesn't matter, what's done is done. I just ask one thing of you. Just sing me a few bars of that song. C'mon Pops, you know what I'm talking about.

Ahh, thanks. Thank you.

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It took me two days to come up with the concept. Its a melange of a lot of things I've been thinking about, for a while.

You know what I'm listening to. If you don't, you don't.

Zone

I'm in a zone. I've been there for god knows how long. Hours, days, weeks, months, who the fuck knows. It's not like I know what I'm doing. Sometimes I feel a full blown rant would help things, but I just cant. My subconscious is probably tired of me whining about how fucked things are on a day to day basis. So it came up with the brilliant idea of stemming the flow of words not from my mouth but from my fingers.

Image currently in head : Brain stem trying to choke me and tying up my fingers with nerve fibres.

Sometimes I wish I was better at sketching, so I could put down what I was thinking with a little more clarity.

I'm quite tired of thinking. Seriously. Its a strain, drain and other things ending with -ain, or even rhyming with it.
I dont see the point of constantly battling your desires so as to fulfil long term goals. If you cant be happy now, whats the point of being happy 20 years later. There is the whole work hard ethic thing, but seriously, how can you guarantee your happiness after youve achieved whatever goal you have.
If I end up penniless a couple of years later, I'll say " At least I enjoyed my time!"

I hate the way I write now. I cant articulate the thoughts in my head. Everything is gone. Lost. Probably even put up for adoption.

This might seem like a rant, but is far from one. Venting out feelings is hardly enough anymore.

It's a drug. You use, abuse and then your tolerance increases, you hit it harder and harder, looking for that release. Chasing the dragon as its called, in the more opiate controlled form.
Its what ive been looking for, a release.
Well, my arms are covered with needle marks, im out of veins to shoot into, regular junk doesnt do it for me anymore. Am I nearing saturation, or have I just become eternally thirsty.
Burroughs spoke of the wraith (ive probably got the name wrong, but who gives), a protoplasmic remnant of what was once a human and then a junkie. Thats all I am now. The wraith is transparent, so am I. So used to opening and venting out, I am just an open book, though who might be reading is another question altogether.

I remember a time, when there was an angst in what I wrote, some feeling, and a little accomplishment when I got done with it. Now, there is just the expectation, the anticipation, followed by an old friend, disappointment.

And what fun is there, what joy is left, in forcing myself to do something. It becomes pure mindless drudgery, something I loathe from the very depths of my being.
I never thought I would be one to bow to the machine, and here I am, contemplating to be one with it.

I might have had a spark once, I'm not quite sure. It might have been a fledgling spark, a sparklet. But whatever it was, if it was there, it is now gone, extinguished by time and tide.

I am still young, with years to go before the final release ( chance dictates how many) But I feel no joy in what I do. There is no zest. There is nothing.

This might be a phase, it might pass. But doesn't its occurrence signal something far worse to come.

I could go on typing. But what would be the point. As usual I have become butcher to myself, hung myself up by the meat hook for all to see.

I see no end in sight, all there is, is bleak. And it is I who is to blame. For no matter how much you debate it, a man is the master of his own destiny.

Maybe tomorrow I'll feel better.
Still, I will be the same.

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I should have written this in my journal, but spontaneity got the better of me.