Puke

Handsome bully

I am blasphemous. Most likely I will repeat those actions. Forgive me. Forgive me for the nonsense I will not comprehend or allow to register within me. Sometimes I hate people. Don't do this to me, please don't do this to me. I can feel this energy from such a great distance. I have a beer and my SoundCloud playlist. I would allow you to partake but right now I'm telling you not to kill my feels. Thanks rap music.

Woke up at the rare hour of sometime before noon for once. Showered and actually changed into something other than sweatpants and a t-shirt. Its been 27 years of waking up, everyday mostly the same and today is no different even if it happens to be my day of birth. I keep telling myself to smile a little but it seems the cliche of being depressed on your birthday is very real. The whole "its my party and I'll cry if I want to" thing is a little played out, this I know. There was no party nor were there tears. There was however a red box of girl scout cookies that I housed and no regrets about doing so. Monotony is like oxygen lately. I can't seem to find myself or other people that attract me. All hail the menacing breed of assholes that hate everything around them. Its okay to be an asshole, in fact I'm one of them. I want to like myself and other people. I want to be classified as a gentleman or a "stand up guy." Someone thats really going to "go far" or "have the world by the balls". Instead here I am living with my parents a month out of jail for the 6th time, pissing in a cup for probation twice a week and have nothing to offer to myself or anyone else. Its a common problem these days I must admit. The problem where its recommended to show up to places where crowds of people like you puke out whats bothering them or shout how long its been since they've had a drink or a drug for a pat on the back or cry and hug each other. The whole thing makes me cringe. These days its rare if you are twenty something, pay bills, drink occassionally, stay clear of hard drugs, keep your word on things like favors for family and friends, hell its rare if you are perfectly fine and have been from the start with the sex you were born. Why do I feel like people are so attention happy now. Why do I feel like I should take some "selfies" and post them in hopes of some likes or compliments. Maybe it will make me feel better about myself. No I'll be the first to tell people I look better in person. Its why I don’t do things like Tinder or POF. I got a text from this sweet girl I fucked once, literally just once. She has a "stand up guy" now. She called me an old man and asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I told her I wanted to fuck her. She laughed and told me I'm a disaster, I shrugged cause shes not wrong and said an old man can dream. Social media posts from people wishing me a "happy" and "healthy" year. It was nice of them and yet it still bothered me a lot. The fact that they had to drop the healthy word. I don’t know why because that is probably a normal thing to say maybe I'm looking too far into it. Double checking for double meanings. I heard that in a song once those aren't my words. Fuck I need a drink. Flipping through Manga, playing video games and watching anime just isn't doing it anymore. I need something more. The highlight of my days are when I eat these frozen pancakes I can microwave in just a minute. They are delicious. Maybe I'll start painting for the hell of it or finally finish the Majora's Mask puzzle I’ve been working on for a month and frame it to feel like I accomplished something. I'm thinking about getting a bonsai tree. I think it will be good for me. I want to travel. I want some company. I want to fight over covers with someone other than my dog. I want all the answers death seems to promise, without the whole dying part. More importantly I want to live or start living. Show that I have some god damn worth and stop complaining like a sarcastic whiny bitch. I want these things. An old man can dream right?

Colorful lights and decorative wreaths everywhere I go and bows don't forget the bows you can never have too many. It's strange, my first Christmas in 3 years not spent in prison. Sugar highs from all the baked goods I've helped Ma with. Coca-Cola with the polar bear on the can's. Everyone smiling so much I wonder if their jaws and cheeks ache after the day is over and they lay down to sleep in probably some snowflake or other holiday related print flannel pjs. I passed a drug test without cheating today and I can't quite shake those thoughts of rewarding myself with those little baggies that would make excellent stocking stuffers in my opinion. Kisses hugs and handholding are the themes this time of year. PDA on a suffocating level, overpowering mint coffee from Starbucks and a whole bunch of do it yourself craft videos on social media. A sense of wonder and thrills rack the nerves of every kid under the age of 8 as they anticipate the gifts they will wake up to if they even sleep at all. I miss feeling that way. My innocence and youth are drained. I hate to admit being envious of the couples in their long embraces keeping warm in the cold weather, trying to make fashion statements in their bright colored scarfs and the jokes I hear them crack about each other's families. It seems everybody has somebody and I'm nobody.

Terrible actions carried out with the knowledge of the terrible outcomes. Not very intelligent. Being discovered is always inevitable. Novice at being secretive. Where’s the privacy? Riveting realizations shake existence. Good natured people hurting. Afflicted by malicious intentions for the sake of selfish pleasures. Woe is the pessimist swimming in his half empty glass of water. Tiring and tiring, water fills his lungs. Drowned in his own negativity he contaminates the glass. She picks it up, touches it to her lips but does not drink. Instead she pours it down the drain.

Bruised veins leading to a mystery with a name. Everyone says to listen to it no matter what, but mines grown quiet. Maybe the world has become too loud. I’m running out of quiet places to be alone.

You’re fine they said FINE! Emphasis on the second time around. The word fine I mean. This sitting in a car with unfamiliar bodies and tension I hope is invisible to the rest because it’s so thick and becoming harder to breathe, becomes more than just the second occasion I find myself in that could be defined as deja vú somewhat but not to the T. The mental terrors to be found in each one of these god forsaken never ending awkward moments are always different. Lame fucking jump scares that normally wouldn’t phase me but somehow seem different this time, larger and more in my face, towering and threatening to occupy every inch of space that would provide me with a way out, intimidating me into obeying and shrinking into the background to remain utterly helpless as I watch these figments that I have let manifest through me take over what little control I had on myself. Enjoying their newly hijacked role as navigators they begin to launch their first assault on me, to commence the breaking of my desperately ill prepared facade I’m straining to portray and hoping it is convincing enough to accurately confirm the description of me as being fine in the eyes of the other passengers that are providing me company. I begin to wonder how they can be so close but feel so far away and another thought that is more of an undeniable fact to me surfaces and I can’t help but feel so foreign in this shared series of events or some would call it the same time spent together but that’s the thing the bizarre fact that my seconds that ticked away weren’t the same in fact they couldn’t possibly be more different than the seconds that were shared or experienced by the rest of my company. In this case it couldn’t be more true how night and day my time and their time is. Ha fuck only someone as pathetic as me would waste energy into caring about such minuscule things. The phrase Act fine passes through my head for the I don’t know 867th time and just like the 866 times before its unable to contribute any strength into helping me feel even remotely fucking close to fine. Stupid fucking nervous things I cling to as if repeating that phrase would help at all and now I’m feeling really silly because I now realize I was repeating the wrong phrase. The word act just screams fraud and that’s exactly what my facade is, a false last second mustered up cowardly act and now it’s at its end. The rare to begin with presence of color that did little to aid in the showing of life within me is removed and I become a see through canvas that is quickly and crudely being covered by my ruthless anxiety and every fear driven negative thought that is now completing the weak exposed image that brings either the question are you okay? Or the statement you don’t look so good when looked upon to the tongues of everyone I worked to hard to hide these things from. In the midst of this new but sort of repetitive adventure the one person I know as an equal has noticed I’ve failed to light a cigarette. Maybe I’ve had my share of nicotine this night I highly doubt it in time smoking has been absent from my mind and then pointed out to me again as a social option I now want to engage in striking flame to Tobacco and inhaling the calming yet suffocating and sure to slowly kill you substance because fuck it who says I can’t and he said I haven’t so now I might as well do. Some random amount of time passes and the hard to define but common eerily identical smell that is native to all these buildings we fill with the weak deformed and non contributors of the human race we dubbed hospitals invades my nostrils and robs me of the little comfort I gained from the hugs and pep talk I received upon entering the retched place. I proceed to the giant desk with the blonde haired lady looming over me. She’s not exactly intimidating and actually looks quite kind. I tell her I’m going to kill myself. Which wasn’t completely a lie. She shooes my friend away and leads me down a corridor. It’s dim lit and deserted. It’s 3:17am. She sits me on an unoccupied bed in the hall and tell me not to move. I wait till she’s gone and find a restroom close by. I do my last shot of meth with a bag of heroine mixed in. “If you’re gonna fly you should have landing gear” that’s my motto. I finish up and flush the evidence. I bury the syringe at the bottom of a trash can open the door and am greeted by another woman this time dark haired and heavier not so appealing as the blonde one. “Oh good I’m gonna need you to fill this for me Hun” she hands me a clear cup with a white plastic lid.

The Friday before last I made my mistake then met with a friend to make some more. He wanted me to accompany him to a place where he knew he would run into his ex. I said sure sounds interesting and maybe something about accidentally drowning her new boyfriend in the river. We parked on the side of the road and were greeted by a candle flame and a yellow gate, no people in site. We followed railroad tracks and joked of dead bodies and heard boats along the river. He thanked me for coming about a hundred times and I finally found an overgrown path that led us to the place we came to see. I sat on the rocks and watched his feelings get hurt. I told him he handled himself well and for what it's worth I've seen much worse. We remained there with a friend of his. She spoke fast and was eager to share of her experiences out west. It was refreshing and she was genuine. I keep telling myself that I'm going to travel but I probably won't. I mention the moonlit reflection of the tree line on the surface of the water and how it reminds me of a Bob Ross painting because I've been watching him on Netflix. I felt stupid after saying it but not enough to care. I get called dumb sometimes and wholeheartedly agree. It's probably because I don't know what boyfriend jeans are or that I want to like coffee but can't find a roast I like, at least enough to actually spend money on. Maybe it's because I answer whys with the word because and think it's a perfectly reasonable answer. It's the real reasons I know about that make me agree though. We go back to my friends apartment and I stay up all night smoking cigarettes and texting someone's ego to keep it fed. I don't mind making her feel good. She's sweet and polite and probably would be mad at me for even considering that she has an ego. We have a history, nothing crazy. She wears a ring. Not the kind that means anything yet but the kind that people cling to in desperation when things go sour and bring up constantly in hopes of a guilt trip. The kind that mostly grow into burdens. It rhymes with Thomas. That's all my opinion though and I'm no expert on love. If I ever get asked what love is I'll say it's a drag! I'm tired of making mistakes and having regrets. The best anyone can ever do in life is make decisions and try not to have any regrets. I may be dumb but what bothered me most that night was the advice I got on fixing my mistakes. It was to seek pity and to manipulate. Not in those exact words, more on the lines of "just make everyone feel sorry for you." That's the worst feeling in the world. It's sad that sadness feels good. It's sad that I want to rename my blog Like my Sadness. It's sad when people are sad with you but when someone feels sorry for you it's different than being sympathetic or empathetic. I'm not mad at anyone but myself. I just wish things were different.

He screamed at her in a voice he didn't recognize. In-human sounds of rage and suffering. Loud, too loud. She's worried. She's use to the screams. She's been dealing with them for quite some time now. To her relief he stops abrubtly and closes his eyes, unable to look at her anymore. She takes that as her signal to leave. Her feelings are running down her cheeks in inky streams staining her flesh. Shes driving, not fast but just right. She notices the book he was reading on the passenger seat. He marks the pages with a picture of them together. It was taken within the first week she met him. At a Dave and Busters. Time Crisis was the game they were playing and in the picture shes kissing him as she holds her gun under his chin and he does the same with his to her. Their first kiss, captured with each of them endangering one another, fingers lingering on their triggers. Its perfect really. What else is a first kiss but threatening. Who will hurt first? "What a fucking sap!" Shes laughing now and her foot presses the pedal a little harder. Back at her apartment the air is stale. Theres withered lilys on the window sill where she can see the glow of a full moon through the open curtains. She strips and throws her damp clothes on the floor in her bedroom. Aware of the show shes providing to the 15 year old boy that lives next door she flips her long dark hair to one side and moves toward the bathroom to study her gaze in the mirror. 25 years of devious seductive beauty. Its her eyes shes looking at. They've aged, but in a way that assets her even more. She removes the dried evidence from her face and begins to brush her teeth to rid herself of the metalic taste her last meal left. She presses play on her ipod and Scream by The Misfits starts waking the acoustics in the room. A shower comes next. She moves quickly scrubbing hard to remove the once red but now brown stickiness from her body. The water is scolding and she embraces it. Her pale skin is now flushed as she dresses in a violet night gown made of silk that clings to her figure. She lays down in bed and cant help but think about how different he was from the others that came before. What usually takes her 2 nights, took her 6 months with him. No matter, she got what she wanted. A heart is a heart and his....his was delicious. A satisfying win in chess, although she never loses, the challenge was welcomed. Sleep came easy.

Short time this time longer time before. Upon every release I said I’d see this place no more. How quickly my mind forgets once scenery has changed. They say old habits die hard and the absence of mine is strange. Embraced by it my needle hits and pleasure flows to my head. Warm and pleased but ashamed on my knees. The monster needed to be fed. Words slur, vision blurs the world begins to spin. My conscience fights but cannot win. I took too much but still can swim. In these vicious circles to repeat the past. My bodies aged, I will not last. Now back at the place I refuse to call home and here I sit defeated and alone. - Puke

Sometimes I write words on a screen and then close my eyes and hold the delete button hoping that everything that caused those words and surfaced with them could be deleted too. I also hold my breath cause why not, I can be dramatic if I want. My eyes are shut so tight the different colored sparkles start to overpower the black. When I finally open them and the glittery presence of those sparkles fades away into the blank white screen glowing at me in my dark room its surreal. I always want to “Blue skadoo” into it like Steve does in Blues clues when he just spin jumps into a picture on a wall. Its everything I want, this white screen. Its promising and fresh, untainted, a clean slate. You know that saying that people say about not wanting to change their past because it made them who they are? Well I don’t believe them I think its all a load of shit. Sounds immature, it is somewhat. I’ve had condescending people who claim to have had something they call a spiritual awakening, I like to call it an ego-trip, try and tell me about Acceptance. *Puke*. Sad thing is is that they’re right ( smug bastards ). I can’t delete mine. Its the reason I can’t breathe sometimes or face my family and embrace new people in my life. Its the evil energizer bunny equipping my already annoyingly powerful anxiety with new surges of energy to further torment me. It’s the reason I’m awake. I’d say its late others early. The difference between AM and PM. Perception is everything. I’ve filled up this white screen. Ironically my delete button refuses to work. It’s probably upset with me. I never call it by it’s real name. Backspace.

The rough grinding of aging bones and harder thumping of a heart with no purpose. I hope it's cancer that is causing this life draining feeling. DRUGS! I say give me drugs. Ease this pain and discomfort. Morbid thoughts, flashing lights. Turn them off! Keep me in the dark. Rolling wheels going places. Going no where. Feet won't work right they only lead me in the wrong direction. The smells of autumn are among me. The time of year that shows me how beautiful death can be. Hot colors, cool weather. Breathe! Keep breathing they don't have to be labored breaths. Puke if you have to. Cleanse the corrupted that has infected you. Street light says go. It speaks to you through the color green. Mine tend to speak to me in red.