“Please, let it go only for these three minutes.” , the same voice keeps repeating in my head as I fall back on the couch in a state of numbness, on the verge of blacking out. Drum thuds pound their way in my heart, but this time it feels good. I look at my phone. I look at him and grab his hand. We’re both two wasted youths caught up in the little world created to amuse, ourselves, till sadness creeps up on us. Depression and I share momentary eye contact as it smiles from across the room.
“Let it go. Live this moment.” my mind keeps on trying to convince my heart. It is funny how I, need permission from my demons to grant the pleasure of being a wasted youth among many wasted youth. I’m begging for peace and clutch his hand more tightly. I don’t want this to end but it will. Numbness is my new reality, until I get sick of it and crave for the pain. It is a petty circle, if you ask me.
I’m smiling because everything is in Technicolor. I’m a terrific actor. A contradictory state of mind which adheres to the policy of being indifferent and numb, but, hurts every God damn minute from within.
I’m lying about everything to the people around me and I’ve lied so much that it somehow became the truth.
A centipede on the floor. It is such a graceful insect but all the more lethal.
Jesus! I compared someone to a centipede once. I think the more sophisticated and graceful a person appears, the greater chances of them being charming killers.
You know? The kind that slit you raw open on a stone slab but this one is still the better kind.
I’ve come across those who run your mind into a corner. Your mind gets shoved into a darker place from where recovery is harder than living with a knife jabbed into your lungs.
He is not going to be your savior. You’re not going to be his redemption.
Let me call it a night? Temporary death always helps in getting over such phases. In my religion, permanent death shifts you to a time where the soul never sleeps. I don’t know how much of this is true but to be honest? It scares me. Not being able to escape certain states is what causes panic. Oblivion is the least of my concern but not having an escape is what means hell to my soul. Escape has always been my way through life-running away, avoiding situations that consume too much of soul than I have to offer, staying away, cutting them off and most importantly not looking back.
I do look back but mostly to run away farther from things in life. I’ve been called an “inconsiderate fuck” by plenty around me. I might be running away from something as I type this.
Maybe it is a yes? Maybe it is no? I really don’t care and tonight is not the night to figure out life. Maybe tomorrow, maybe never and maybe it will finally unfold as a cruel joke when I’m dead.