Monday bleak New Year, every day is a new year nowadays, junk hang-over wrapped in a blanket of loneliness – a piss stained shroud of Turin. I eat cold soup from a tin can, a freebie swiped from the grocery shelf and tucked into a coat. Cold soup and cigarettes and junk fuel me, it keeps me going, until tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, always thinking about the next high, bittersweet high the next great escape. Tomorrow is another sweet New Years day. Another dismal debacle marked by never-ending failure and never-ending fucking regret and broken promises and shattered resolutions. There once was a time when I intended to make things right. I looked to the future with hope and optimism as strength and confidence oozed out of my pores like puss from a zit. But that was yesterday.
“While dreaming I see only you and me… “
I can’t recognize myself anymore. It’s 3 am and the shadow people keep speaking to me. They ask, they relentlessly ask, what happened? Where did things go wrong? When will things go right? The room shakes and I reach out and grab the sink and puke a gallon of cold pea soup and booze into the toilet. I wipe my mouth and let out a scream of tormented frustration. My arms feel so numb I wish I could cut them off – cut them right fucking off - but if I did that I couldn’t shoot up. Or perhaps I could inject the poison right into my eyeball? Fuck, kill me if I ever get to that point. I sit back and close my eyes resting my head against the peeling sheetrock so I may quietly dream but the stench of shit and rotten soup firmly anchors me to this plane. I can hear the whispers and soft scuttling of cockroaches deep within the walls and I think I see the ghost of you pass by, a fleeting shadow with sad eyes, but then like that… you are gone.
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