Late Night Thoughts

As I Sit Near The Kitchen Counter

As I sit near the kitchen counter, I can't help but compare the very ironic similarities that 1960's soap operas have with my current life. It was vastly amusing how the hugely exaggerated plots would somehow tie knots with the story-like events that form a web around me. Unfortunately, the effortless task of whisking away and detangling such web was not as undemanding as the action of banishing the limitless strings that bound the life changing events together in such complex manner.

It seems like everyday a blood curdling affair would form out of amiss and tighten these webbed ropes some more. The infinite lies, the deeply penetrating betrayals and the ever so cliche backstabs, are what generate the foggy atmosphere that cloud my subconscious. With everyday that passes by, the risk of a treacherous thunderstorm heightens, and with everyday that passes by, I sink deeper into the nadir of a fathomless, cavernous black hole. Lost in my amiss, I begrudgingly start to become engulfed in my own deep persona.

The constant controversial struggle within me is evident as my expressions of morose, worry and anxiousness appear subsequently. As does, the raging war persists between the person I was and the person I have yet to become.

As I sit near the kitchen counter staring down at my cold food, thinking about that phone call that reemerged the doubts I failed to bury, I realize that I am lost. That previously quenched thirst to know both sides of the stories leaves my throat dry, as I sit contemplating which is the right side.

I am dumbfounded as I comprehend, that I am still unaware of the truth. The truth that they keep protected under the mass layers of skin, tissue and blood was all that I have ever wanted to extract. The vile feeling of unsettlement courses its way through my body as knots form in my stomach.

As I sit near the kitchen counter, I wonder if I am ever to be engrossed in the truthful knowledge that can unbind the shackles that keep me captive. I wonder if I am ever to know the truth, or if I am to be a dead corpse six feet under still lost in my amiss, still lost in the limitless web of lies.