2002-06-17 - 12:43 AM
"It's Not Going To Stop, Till You Wise Up..."
And as the rains came down with the sun all out and noble, no rainbow in sight and no plans for the night - I started through my front door, going in. It'd been such a long and rough day. I look back now and I marvel at the day that somehow went through all the wear and tear of a childhood teddy bear. But I think, or I remember, that hell, it's still my day.
I headed upstairs, felt the lump in my throat, the weight on my chest, the cliches spilling from my lips. I went on to do something we all do every day - this shouldn't have been different. But in the special way that special things happen, this was different. I looked into the mirror. I stared at my hard reflection. I whispered to nobody in particular, veiled under the blanket of my breaths,
"You wouldn't want me."
Closer and closer, I focused in on me. It was like the beautiful drag, the slow zoom in a movie; I could hear the music in my head. Closer and closer, the camera's focused in on me. First, it held my head and torso. Then, it cut off at my shoulders - on to my neck and above. Then, right on to just my head, to just my face - kept on going, going, going - stopped on my eyes. And there I was - there I was - gazing into my own eyes.
And I didn't like it.
The wells behind my eyes, swelled and swelled and swelled - I tried my best, tried my hardest, tried with all my might and makeshift magic to keep myself from crying, especially when I really didn't know why. But it happened - you really can't stop things like that. Things that are as natural as crying, you just can't stop. It's like the rose in the cement, the tree in Brooklyn, the time in eternity - Pandora and her fucking mistake.
Who have I become? Who have I been? Why are things happening like this?
What is the price you pay for forgiveness?
Why is special?
I was ashamed with the overdosage of pity I was giving myself - weeping and wailing for all the wrongs going on, the things that should be and shouldn't be - for everything that is, was, will be, and won't. I hated it. I hated my reflection. My fists clenched up like meteors readying for a ride - the want to bloody the mirrors, to crack my knuckles open on that image on the wall - got so damn great. But I held back. And maybe I shouldnt've.
Funny how life is a series of annoying maybes.
...
My gaze was still unbroken - staring at me staring at me. And the longer it went on, the stronger I hated the world. The stronger I wanted to become. The louder I wanted to scream, "FUCK YOU!" on a hill top somewhere close to heaven. The more things got swolen on the inside. The harder I ground my teeth together. The faster I was falling. The faster it was ending. Thoughts screaming, "FUCK YOU!!! FUCK YOU!!! FUCK YOU, MOTHERFUCKER!!! FUUUUUUUUUCK YOOOOOUUUUUUUU!!!" My heart was pounding, racing against itself, tripping all over each beat - adrenaline pumping, skin redding, setting the steam up real high, about to blow. "FUCK YOU!!!" I gritted my teeth and through the raging rustle of my spit and saliva, my anger and heaving - I fucking told myself, and spoke the words proudly aloud,
"Don't go through life, making things special."
*CRACK!*
The blood traveled down the mountains of my veins, webbing along the top of my hand. My knuckles were red...
...I doubt anybody heard the noise in the bathroom.
