Bursts Of Words

The Black Plague

  I have a no idea what's going on. Not a clue. You're asking me to think about the future when I can't even see past the storm cloud that is my present or focus on anything but the sound of thunder from my past? No, I don't have a single clue of what's going on because I'm more worried about getting through first; me and my bottle. No, not that bottle. There isn't much left of me if I don't try to face what's here now and the only semblance of future that I hold is in this little blue bottle. The bottle that holds summer days, hopes, and dreams. It holds one wing from a butterfly and one ray from the sun. The bottle that holds fantasies, love, and wishful thinking. I hold this bottle with the cork stuffed tight because I don't want to be wrong as to when to release it. How can I, when my heart and mind is in a constant state of siege? Now, I'd like to point out that I'm not the religious type, but I know history. And History plays over and over, each generational Renaissance and that is what I'm waiting for. It's what I'm praying for. That once this war that rages dies down, problems may arise here and there but at least there will still be the time for beauty and art and that one day I may be apart of that. The idea that the world will be handed to us on this silver platter and we will run this world and make it a better place. With all this education we will stop world hunger, grow in size and, save the environment. We will change this blue ball by morphing it into whatever we are: told to morph it into. It will be glorious and magnificent. Full of art, culture, literature, science, and all things necessary to keep your head angled towards the surface of the water: but never above it. Drowning slowly and playing our part by waiting for this renaissance to show. Like a circus strolling in and out of towns. Waiting to sell our lives to it and follow because that's the beauty of trying to do everything exactly as you're supposed to do it. And the horror of not being satisfied. To not be satisfied with the results that took so much time and energy. There's the problem with that: waiting. Because I've been told that this Renaissance will come, I have been programed to wait for it. To sit there and squint my eyes through the storm cloud or brace myself for every thunderclap that threatens to scare my heart from beating. I'll just keep waiting and waiting. For what? For the right time? No. There is no right time and that my friend, is what's scary. That my friends is why I have no clue as to what's going on because it will never be the right time. That's simply how it works. People fail and fall, people learn and get up but never without pain. There will always be fear of being wrong. There will always be the black plague. Hardships and struggle is to be expected but, if we are always told that we just need to do this and this, then we will all be stars then inject me with the virus already and let the uncertainty of adulthood take hold as I die from not doing things right or from still acting like a child. Let me die of debt that schools will load me with and the pain of not fully fitting into this mold of society. Let me die of choosing incorrectly and years of possibly or never setting it right. Let me die of pretending like my life is decent to my family and mediocre friends as I cry wondering how I will ever form a budget that works. Let me die with the wondering if anything I did would ever count towards anything. Let me die by the thoughts in my head about how I'm still this know-nothing that can't seem to be independent and not rely on my parents. Let me die of watching my friends grow in their lives and marriages. Let me die in suffocation of getting older and moving slower. Let me die of losing motivation and talent and skill because I was told to "be realistic" . Let me die of a realistic life. Let me die of being a low life in this Renaissance Era. Let me die in the hands of this black plague. For if we give in and submit are we traitors to courage or wise enough to accept our hardships of "realistic life"?