Feeds:
Posts
Comments

What is the point?

I work a minimum wage, retail job.
I work this job to pay for my car, so I can get to work.
I work at this job so I can pay for school, so that later in life I can get a higher paying job.
And I’ll work at that job so I can pay for not only my car to get to work, but also a roof to cover my head.

Work and school are a part of the life I was brought into.
A social norm set in the suburbs.

A place where everyone is raised to do the same thing.
To mow their lawns and dust their material objects and wash their cars every Saturday.
To spend Sunday mornings in church, and their afternoons sitting around a table of food with other people born into these social norms.
Working Monday to Friday so they can afford the things that they have been taught are necessary to have.
Filling spare time with hobbies, music, sports, sex… cheap entertainment with immediate satisfaction.

And they continue to strive for this lifestyle until they are old enough to retire from their job and basically spend all their final years enjoying themselves with the hobbies they tried to fit into their routine schedules.

They collect memories, feel the difference between joy and pain, learn lessons, make mistakes, and do what they are taught is the acceptable way of living.

But is it really living? Does anything they do really count as a well spent life? And who defines what is well spent and what is not. Is it their education? The amount of money they make? The people they create relationships with?

What is the whole point? What is their purpose?

Why put themselves through stress, worry, frustration, and pain only to receive little satisfaction or happiness in the end?

They give and give and give their strength and sweat and energy into living these stereotypical lives.

Sure maybe they found some form of inner contentment through having children, or touring their music, or having more money than their neighbor. But it doesn’t last. Soon their children are stressing them out, or their music becomes boring or they find themselves alone with their money.

And then what was the point of working towards it? If it can slip from your hands as fast as you reach to hold on to it, then why bother?

I don’t see the point.

Start and end

My lipstick stains your skin
Rib cage of steel won’t let you in
An ice cold heart a soul of sin
Just stop now this won’t begin

A dreaded disease in disguise
Hourglass model, doe eyes
I awake when the stars rise
My alarm clock mimics your cries

Sweet breath of berry wine
Please believe me I’m fine
Just balancing on a thin line
Between insanity and what’s really mine

I have nothing for me to defend
When your back breaks mine bends
Please don’t confuse the message I send
Where your body starts mine ends

Mind & Body.

She pulled over to the side of the road, her heart racing heavily. She tried to convince herself it was just the large amount of Redbull she had ingested, however she knew, realistically what she was about to encounter.

For a split second the darkness had control of her body. Her breathing was faint and fast paced, her hands began to tremble and the numbness took over. Whispers in her head told her to step on the gas and ram the silver baby into the guard rail.

Images of materials intertwining with each other and the sharp sound of metals scraping together clouded her vision.

But she could not let the darkness win. Somewhere in the depths of her soul she knew it would end. She took a deep breath, held it in and slowly let it out as if releasing the darkness into the night.

“Focus,” she said aloud.

Indicator, gas, drive.

As if the car had drove unattended, she found herself safely parked in her parent’s driveway. In a split second she made her way into the house, down the stairs and straight into her bedroom.

Water in one hand and the tiny maraca in the other, she swallowed it whole and took a seat.

Mere moments passed and her body returned to what others would consider normal. The darkness had retreated, consumed by the tiny pill.

She focused on moving her fingers and toes, counted to ten and felt her body return to her control.

She was not surprised by the thought of her own death, although incredibly dumbfounded that she almost had no control over it.

Her mind had been engulfed by darkness and the only way to escape it was the light that illuminated from the medication.

Control was her high, it kept her alive, and it frightened her that she no longer was in complete control.

Her mind and body were working against each other. One trying to kill off the other for it’s own survival.

Tears dripped onto her dress as she concluded that her mind, and the darkness that invaded it, would eventually win.

She missed the haze. The daily awakening to a jack hammer in her brain and the smell of vodka in her sweat. The entire day was a vision of fog, and then with one sip of the dog’s hair, she felt a live again. It was as if she had never awoken from the night before.

The alcohol soothed her. it allowed her to be the person she envied. It gave her the courage to speak her mind, strength to battle her demons and balance to settle her undeniable clumsiness.

It also allowed her to breathe.

Now, four months later, 120 days in passing, she gave in to the thirst. She could not handle the clarity any longer. Being sober made her feel trapped. It was like she was stuck in a reality where time passed faster yet the days dragged on. She went to work at a minimum wage prison, she ate food prepared in a well established kitchen and she wore clothing that embellished her body like the sleek paint on a sports car.

What she didn’t miss was the throbbing pain that she felt in the mornings. Not the thunder in her head, but the suffocation in her heart. Waking as the sunrise hit the blankets of the bed and vanishing from the sexual fantasy before his eyes fluttered open.

She would leave her mark on his bed side table every morning: a tall glass of water, her lipstick stain on a napkin and the scent of her perfume on his pillow. He’d awake to an empty bed, a hangover and the faint memory of how her body intertwined with his.

She’d steal his heart and he’d take her soul.

This bartering would always take place in the dark of night, when the moon would be in full bloom over the city of sin.

* * *

The movement of their bodies would entertain her troubles for mere minutes until the high began to sink into the depths of sleep and yearning for more. As the high lowered, so did her longing for him. She lived day to day, drink to drink, man to man. Never staying in one place long enough to settle. Never adjusting her lifestyle to suit someone else. Never falling into the safe routine of her parents.

Living life as she did caged her from a constant state of fear because in her mind she had control, although reality said otherwise.

She controlled her alcohol intake and the alcohol controlled her. While fear fueled the need for control.

As long as her mind was occupied and her troubles camouflaged she lived in a state of peace, near contentment.

Surrounded by strangers in a strange bar, she searched for a familiar face, but the booze blinded her.

Like a rehearsed routine, she sacrificed her sleep for his company. Tonight however, he was no where to be found.

He had made an easy escape, clean cut, painless- for him at least.

Regret eroded her mind. It had been years since she let vulnerability back into her vocabulary, but he managed to seduce her into speaking.

With no desire to reenact the lifestyle she had before music notes mesmerized her mind, she couldn’t help but feel nostalgic for the night life.

The very thought of complete control made her heart race. The desire to be wanted, to feel desirable. She had that power once, he had let her feel that way once.

A relationship built under blankets, strengthened by substance and nurtured only by nightfall.

As the sunrise seeped through the curtains and a hand shielded blood shot eyes, her face was merely a mirage. She would leave her scent on the pillow and a glass of water on the table, proof that she was there with no obligation to ever return.

“Leave before you’re left.” She savored the thought in her mind endlessly.

And then it hit her.

He had left.

I’m stuck in my mind

And I cannot find

An escape

Or a way out

My head is full

Of doubt

About

You and I

And my

Fucked up head

Just take me to bed

I said

Give me a break

From this

Please kiss me 

I’m sorry

Running Away

As I smoke my last cigarette

I look out onto the street

And I try my hardest not to regret

The burdens I constantly try to defeat

And as the beer flows

My life flashes by me

But that’s how thing go

I squint to try and see

The band on the stage

My ears hear the music notes

And as you turn the page

I realize the words you wrote

Were not written with me in mind

Because her face haunts you

The past you cannot leave behind

Even if you wanted to

And I try my best

To obtain your attention

I’m sick of trying to rest

When I just want to run 

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 369 other followers