Raise Your Glass

I've been trying to figure this out... the sorting of odds and ends, little children and decimal points. If two makes three, then why would a fourth make only one? Lots of things in my sheltered, little world have been changing rapidly... the razor swam violently through the folds of that bloated neck. There was no blood or squirming... only a whimper, accompanying the pus and bile.

Richard came and visited me last night... it has been awhile since he displayed the strength and resolve to speak his mind unhindered. He poured me a glass of bleach and offered his opinions with malice and buttered toast. He told me to drink and to forget... forget this madness of emotions and purpose. That the road that awaits me has nothing more to offer... just the worn soles and blisters upon my feet. For once, I think he may be completely correct... there is nothing waiting down there for me, only more regret and heartache. If I were to die today, right this fucking moment, there would be nothing to prove my worth or existence. Perhaps some photographs that could be anyone really, no accomplishments or achievements. I have these scribblings on digital paper and a cardboard box of tangible delusions... nothing more, not respectable in the least. I have skeletons living in boxes.. more fingers and toes. Just waiting for their release... my secrets would come undone when the vultures come to pick through my carcass and memories. Letters and bits of hair, wrapped in shame, and the clothing they once wore... and finer too, are the cotton few, that line those photograph's tomb. No one would come to my funeral... for there wouldn't be anyone that would arrange it. My grave would shallow and unmarked, much like my life... nothing to remain when the dust comes home. My only "friends" and "companions" are in the digital world... no one touches my flesh or dries my tears, just the cracking skin of my own hands. Richard knows well, his words paint my empty canvas... but his resolve is nontransferable. I reek of cowardice and I lack the strength to end this mockery of an existence. I fucking hate it here... and I hate you, for fucking bringing me back.