Wednesday, July 9, 2008

Here I am once again, in the same old places doing the same old things. Sitting back and watching them drop like flies, wondering, waiting, and watching to see when it's my turn. Watching, waiting, and wondering how I can escape this time. So far it's been nothing but luck. So far it's been nothing but a haze. And I sit here wondering about what life is like after this.
Only back for no more than 48 hours and it's the same shit all over again, trying to get whatever we can find, calling all the usual suspects. Begging the old friends and casual acquaintances and bribing the stranger on the street. Looking looking looking, looking for a fix. looking looking looking, looking for a buzz. Looking for something, for anything, for everything, for everyone, just trying to actually feel anything. Oh to feel something, again.
But it's not that easy. It's no longer a game, it's a way of life. Even when you're not there. Even when no one is around. There will always be something. Something to see, something to hear, something to smell that is reminiscent of what you left behind. What you have grown with, what you cannot live without.
But is does not own you, it is the casual grip on your conscience that owns you. It is the ever present thought in the back of your head, always thinking about escaping, conceal, lying, buying... trying.
And as a sad sad song comes on the radio, you think of someone you know, that time you shared. Everything that happened, and when it's all tied to this what do you really have? What do you really have to show, what sort of memories are these? Glorifying the disease? They all glorify the disease, no matter how much they criticize it and it's effects. No matter much they caution you not to do it. No matter how much they will fight against it, it remains glorified. And it always will be. What some can never touch or never should is what may be a dirty little secret in someone's past. Or perhaps it's no secret at all, it's the reason they live the way they do, it's the reason they suffer all day, it's the reason that they really have nothing to show. Nothing but a glorified lie, a disease that has no real cure. You cannot fight this sickness, you cannot find a cure. You may run as far as you may and perhaps it will not concur you. You may isolate yourself as much as possible leaving you with nothing, yet again.
It exists around us, within us, and in everyone we ever trusted.
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