DEMA

Doubt

1st of February, 3001
Scared of my own image.
Scared of my own immaturity.
Scared of my own ceiling.
Scared I'll die of uncertainty.
Fear might be the death of me.
Fear leads to anxiety.
Don't know what's inside of me.
Don't know what's inside of me.

I have finnaly fallen into a routine.
I lay in bed all morning, feeling sick beyond belief.
Chances are I'll probably throw up.
After that I'll make some food, and write my poetry, or do a journal entry.
Then by lunchtime I'll begin drinking.
Drinking is the only thing that can block out BlurryFace.
I'll probably be tipsy by the time I go out to buy myself dinner, but the more accustomed my body gets to the alcohol the more I have to consume before I get drunk.
It's draining all my money.
After I get take out, I'll drink some more.
Then I'll probably drink for the rest of the evening until I pass out.
Then I wake up and repeat the cycle, again and again, every single day.

2nd of February, 3001
Temperature is dropping.
Temperature is dropping.
I'm not sure if I can see this ever stopping.
Shaking hands with the dark parts of my thoughts.
You are all that I've got.
You are all that I've got.

Today, sombody put a letter in my letterbox.
It was a addressed to Clancy, but had no return address, and was not signed.
It was written in an inky, black pen, by somone with beautiful, delicate, cursive handwriting.
I read it, yet was perplexed by its meaning.
It read:

Dear Clancy,
The perplexities of the Dema horizon didn't occur to me until your announcement last October.
It was then that I began to contemplate the existential, and decide what type of impression I wanted my life to make.
Naturally, to fuel my hope, I looked out upon the distance of the land that had cultivated me, only this time with a new awareness of the obstruction that my youthful ignorance had allowed me to overlook.
Was it there the whole time?
How had I not seen something so obvious?
I am reminded of the moment daily, as the idealization directly collides with a unique hope for my own future.
As a child, I looked upon Dema with wonder, today, I am wrought with frustration, as I spend each day squinting for a glimpse of the top of the looming wall that has kept us here.
It was trough your announcement that I learned that Dema wasn't my home.
This village, after all of this time, was my trap.
Signed, J,,,,

My thoughts went first to Josh, before the reminder that he no longer exists hit me like a stone wall.
I put the letter by my bedside table and lay down with a bottle of spirits.
I would think more about the letter when I was in the right headspace.

3rd of February, 3001
Gnawing on the bishops.
Claw our way up their system.
Repeating simple phrases, someone Holy insisted.
Want the markings made on my skin.
To mean something to me again
Hope you haven't left without me.
Hope you haven't left without me, please.

Keons paid me a visit today.
He told me it was to check up on me, see how I was doing.
He approached as the sun rose this morning. I wasn't scared.
I was relieved.
After all that he had taught me, his presence was the most comforting moment that I had in days, and I couldn't help but be happy to see him.
In true Keons fashion, he wrapped his arms around me, then put his hands under my face, looked me in the eyes, and said, "Clancy, child, it's so great to see you."
He stayed for only a while, I could see him glancing around my apartment, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious.
Before he arrived I had rembembered to hide the letter in my bedside locker.
I hadn't rembembered to hide the empty bottles that littered the house.
But in true keons fashion, he didn't comment on them.
As I let him out the door and watched him walk down the corridor of the apartment block, I could see somone watching from the apartment across from me.
She was peeking trough her door, looking disapprovingly at me.
I quickly darted back behind my door, eager to begin drinking.

Don't forget about me.
Don't forget about me.
Even when I doubt you.
I'm no good without you.