The Sands Fall Lightly

My hourglass is bottom heavy; a sense there is not much time left.  The pain in my chest will not go away.  The laboring of my breath becomes more each day.  With my remaining time, I will voice myself, albeit hollowly, in this shadowy box.

It is easy for me to be angered by what I perceive as the ruins of my life.  As a youth, I showed potential and promise; academic merit complimented by athletic achievement provided the backdrop for what could have been an exceptionally worthy life.  However, when I recognized this hope provided, I decided to create my own destiny rather than pursue the one so elegantly laid down before me.

I tired of my talents, scorned my abilities, and decided to adventure towards dreams of which I had no tools but the fancy of my imagination.  So strongly I wanted to be a musician, to be on stage singing my heart out and playing rock and roll guitar.  But, as many have found, the dream is a far cry from the reality.  When I learned that my narcissitic goal of captivating people from the dais are not too be,  I also learned that the window of oppurtunity on my former talents had closed.  I now had nothing but a chip on my shoulder with bad memories, a university scholarship lost, and growing debt.

I had surrounded myself with those people who love the extravagant experience… who am I kidding?  I hung out with other drug users; people who escaped banal reality for the temporary high and fix that chemicals of our people and earth provide.  Now, this escape has become banal, ennui, trite, droll.

I have a love and she is sweet as can be, offering me anything and everything I had ever demanded of a lover – and until she, by adamant command I remained alone for a long time.

But now, she is not enough, and when I smile for her I die a little more inside.  I want her to be happy despite the false smiles and words that come from me to keep her (who is actually older than me) my Lolita.  This falsehood disgusts me; she has not wronged me in the slightest and I am too cowardly to show integrity and too vain to tell the truth.

Alone.  In death, are we not all alone?  Many say yes, many say no citing eternal life and salvation in heaven.  What I want is to die and dissolve from existence, but I know this is not so.  I have not sinned so much in life that I would be banned from heaven, no; but I have failed, shamed, and hated myself to the degree that an eternity with myself would be eternal hell.

There is no escaping who we are.  That is built it, hard-wired.  Only many, many, years can began to erase who we are.  As the wind and water wash the stone, as the earth heaves and the cosmos throw mountains – only through near eternities can the memory and loathing for myself be washed away.  However, this seems the impossible task since my self-ire procreates as fast it falls away. I am an exceedingly fertile mother for dark vanity.

Perhaps I am already in eternal life; I’ve seen no absolute beginning and I’ve seen no absolute end.  This purgatory of life damns me for making happiness so fleeting, and worse, so unproductive.  If I could but write something down when I was filled with joy!  To be able to lock into eternal memory those moments the benevolence of the world seemed to shine upon me!   But alas, I drunk those times like wine with nothing to remember the party but the hangover today.

~ by PS on July 8, 2008.