The Lying Mirror

I keep having the same nightmare over and over again.  In my nightmare I don’t know where I live.  I’ll go to places I used to live only to find out I don’t actually live there anymore.  Interestingly enough, I’m always in the residence when it dawns on me.  Then I’m faced with the instant anxiety of being discovered trespassing.

I’m so sad.  I’m so sad for the people and the suffering in the world.  There are ten million exploding notions of a bitter prophet.  I do as much as I can about it, but ultimately there is only so much I can do.  I’m broken.  I’m defective.  I hope you’re paying attention.  You best be paying attention.  I come from a long line of shit.  It’s either this or being overburdened by psychological grenade damage.

I wish I wasn’t raised to think everyone is so expendable, and disposable.  I think maybe people think that I can’t be hurt.  My logic may not be on fire but the stars are watching us all, and they know something we don’t know. So when they decide they want to hurt me, they’ll do something very radical, not realizing it doesn’t take much at all to hurt me.  There I was easy to hurt to begin with but you decided to go that extra mile to ensure that I would be really hurt. I’ll forever walk the streets of hell, no longer encumbered with the urge to dance. Overkill ensues.

People suffer.  Some get better.  People like me.  We’re all just angels who want to go home.  I don’t belong here.  I don’t belong around other living beings bleeding me for the best parts of me.  I’m scared and I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.  Not even the music can help.   I look over my shoulder and there is nothing there.  Just a lesser version of me but twice the man I’ll ever be.

I’m officially out of pills.  The day has come.  Now I have to do things I’m not equipped to do to get more pills.  I must be stopped.  I’m not a nice person.  I’m a monster that feeds on anxiety and stress.  I need to be put down.  Rise from your grave.  Take my hand.  Let’s show them where the limelight is.  The one that echoes.

This doesn’t get better.  Don’t ever think it gets better.  It’s only a matter of time.  You’ll all be laying face down in the dirt.  We all will be.  Hetero skeletons will prevail.  I don’t want to be here when that time comes.  It’s not fair.  For all the power I’ve been blessed with, there is absolutely nothing to do to make the world better.  I don’t inspire.  I anger.

I wasn’t made for these times.  The guy who yells Freebird.  The person who says hangry.  The person who says happy wife happy life.  Other varied unoriginal stupidity.  The fist fighter.  The non-believers.  The cowards.  The victims and the fornicators.  Die.

I can’t deal with this.  I just need to find a hole to go and die alone in.  It’s not suicide.  It’s a hero’s overture.  Cowardice is continuing to accept a parody of reality.

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2 Comments so far:

  1. T says:

    Hang in there Douglas.

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Posted by: Doug Hell on