The Hoplite

two

pretending to be a person- a one man show/I don't know what I'm doing with my life and it's terrifying ...

19/09/2022

It works like that. Until it doesn't. So, you step out the house eventually. Take a walk, have a smoke, think, have another one...Get no thinking done, repeat it. Forget how to think. Leave, and leave again, until you no longer have to leave. Autumn is Queen and I'm on my knees. I'm beginning to think I exist only for sharp things to cut me. I exist for the inhale followed by an exhale, and that is all. It's getting cold outside and my fingers are numb.

I can tell you're cold too, but you'd never show it. Always and forever short-sleeved and short-tempered, red and blue and purple. And violet and beautifully ugly and crooked. You are your chipped teeth and your beautiful nose wrinkles. Karma in code blue. Permanent toothaches. Antibiotic bitter and atomic blonde. I am all these different people when I'm around you. What was it, again?

I live, I think. I think I do, at least. I run. I run because I seem to like it when my feet hurt. I run because I don't like walking. I run because, I think. Don't catch up with me. I break plates while doing the dishes and I drop mugs in early mornings. Sometimes, I forget to dust and I don't vacuum enough whatsoever. You never mention it. I know you know and we know it. Sensible and senseless. It's like, hangnails for breakfast, paronychia for lunch, if you catch my drift. I'm not feeling tired, but it's only placebo. I finally like being sober, but, only sometimes. These days, I like to think. Everything is blending again, days becoming one. Time to self-medicate. I don't particularly enjoy it. I do enjoy being alive, though. I live, I think. I think I do, at least.

You don't quite read like you used to. You've grown into your face. 

I miss the sting. (I really, truly don't.)

Everywhere is perfect with strangers around you. I used to hate parties, now I'm lonely when there's no partying. 

My stomach is an empty teapot waiting to be smashed against a hard surface, it's a wild cat getting pet by a small kid's sloppy hand on the way home from school. It's a flower, waltzing with the wind. I've come to the conclusion that I don't like being depressed anymore. Living for the thrill, part-time, at least. I still get scared of it, just not as much :) I don't like being unwell. I never liked being unwell. I only ever liked the routine. It was nothing and yet it still echoes inside me. 

I don't quite read like I used to either, do I? 

It's ugly, ugly, ugly, you're so pretty and I'm having trouble seeing a real reflection in the mirror again. Reflections or reparations or antioxidant exfoliate? Self-destructing only to fix yourself back up.

I will still love you, even if you get really sick. I will hate you if you die.(P.S. don't ever die.) I think I'm losing touch but I like it. I'm getting too old for this day drinking and night-terroring.

I don't know where I stand anymore.

Kind regards, maybe.

Maybe not, after all. Hmm.