Nobody's Musings

This wasn't written to be read. In fact, I meant for this to be my own private thoughts on what I mean to me. Not that it would matter to a foreign pair of eyes, but I guessed as much that you might be interested. That's the difference, isn't it? It takes more than just eyes to read this, to feel the kind of ache that spills out when I put myself in this very uncomfortable position. Now that I think of it, I want this known. When pages become yellow and the words fade into the background, there is a part of me that is erased, gone forever. I now attempt to preserve what is left of me. What is too precious to waste is what is easily thrown away in haste. 

I don't think this is a story like any other.  Don't expect it to be. It's a very simple reason - because my story isn't replaceable. If it was, don't expect me to inhale the oxygen and the other vicious crap that I do in an attempt to be the artsy, failing but living being that I am. 

Waves of sound and momentary existence flow through and inside of me. Almost like a reminder to breathe. That's very helpful, I must say, for breathing and living, as one courses through life,  increasingly become laborious. But that is besides the point. 

Drawing in deep breaths of smoke helps snub out a rather worrisome thought within me. Thoughts about my destination, imaginations of a faraway possibility. Nothing, yet everything seems impossible in the cusp of momentary high, as the drug tickles one's sense, bringing one into the depths of nothingness. Being a nobody doesn't seem too bad, especially when there is accompanying tobacco.

Yet, still I struggle. I know, I hear you. Struggle is normal, and it shapes your worldview. I'm definitely not rejecting a more polished worldview. More than anybody else, I'm all for a life-changing revamp. But right now, I'm at peace with myself. Not really peace in the truest sense of the word. Surrounded by cigarettes, silence and the dull beats of raindrops against my window, I dare say it's pretty close to peace even if it doesn't seem like it. Except that my soul is ripped out and repaired like how the sun rises and sets each day - like a mundane routine. Still, it's peace that comes at a very expensive cost. And there's no way in hell I'm giving it up for a moment of security. 

My chapter will very soon come to a close. And it will be part of the anthology of many other unknowns. An award that I relish deeply, for there is no deeper desire within me than to go unnoticed and undisturbed.

 I go in a comfortable state of worthlessness.