Notebook 018

Part II
Journal Entry: Thu May 4, 2006, 11:46 PM

Churning out heat by the bucket. He knows the switch.
He knows it's placement and how to use it.
Yet he persists to do nothing.
He persists the freefall. The self-loathing mess that
builds to nothing but solitude. How he calls for a warm
body to take it all away.
"I'm getting better." He says.
Truth be known, he wouldn't be awake to say it to his audience if he were.
His single paying customer; Himself. And his ticket was free.
An alarm rings somewhere in the distance.
He can't quite figure if it's the post office down the road,
or the back of his reverberating skull. It stops.
Humming pipes stir to a grumble in a quiet protest at the light still on.
A heavy sigh for keeping them known, and in restless.
A car approaches in the dead of night. It passes.
It's still passing.
It meanders off, it's echo leaving more trail than it's tires ever could.
The road remains as it was before, and will be since.
Cold and flat, the air deadens and hangs, the memories of sunshine and
t-shirts it's noose. It moulds and decays becoming a poreous space
filling every clammy head, and turning to discomfort.
Somehow the stank glossy walls just don't seem cool enough.
Again, the burning light takes center, for it has been too long since
it was lit, yet she exhales her outward breaths still.
A faint whisper of motion and he realises 'This is going to be it.'
No more moving silences capturing his thoughts.
Only dust can settle upon him now, for he lays without hope and
without grudge. Expelled from his ducts is all but water.
This is 'shame' my friend.
She shrouds and consumes the acknowledgement and acceptance
turning it into bitter hateful fingers.
They point until he opens his eyes.

I hope he never has to open his eyes.