That Twisted Tale of Past

If you’re torturing yourself with the mental machinations then it may feel like Hell fractions of the time. A fractional fractured life positioning itself between the dark pit of despair and loony limbo. Of course you’re going to go a little crazy with this schtick up your ass, though isn’t a “little crazy” like being a “little bit pregnant?” I own the bad dog days of inebriations, tomfoolery and assholery. I gave a lot of myself away to reach the bottom with a partial safety net. I degraded myself while having some fun I admit, but I was wishing and willing my existence to dank pits and gutter life, drowning in the sewers of White Castle; Kumar can you hear me? Papa, Papa Doc of my good fortune, my blessings, my misunderstood turmoil baked and breaded for loser lothario consumption.

I broiled in that misery self-loathing stew for at least two years, the times grinding away at work and wallowing in the self, hiding in the dark halls shirking from responsibilities. I gave up halfway on the very word, not even a response, just a limping zombie with an axe in his head drone drooling drowsily along. Gone stir crazy and I had to put on that happy face for a time, not that I wasn’t ok in shards of time. No crystal clear moments though, I was overcome, overwrought, overdone, with dull, milky cataracts of oblivion observation. Highs and lows of a see saw mental/emotional state. I craved escape but I felt relegated to this humonculous mass of depression. A failure of a sadness bowl, chicken on the side. Then the quitting, then the drinking and debauchery, Hyde fun for droopy drole boy. Mana for the spirit, spirits for the man. Down the sinkhole I go, burdy burr…

But I awaken, I am caught in a struggle for supremacy between the fallen, idling egos. Smash and grab trivialities that make up my realities. I am lost, lost to the world of the norms; but there are none, all of us lost and struggling in tar sands of internal and external influence. Rife with pollution we suck at the toxic air and light up a cig just to really rub it in. Cancer, camphor, ointments galore, tinky tinctures with false promises fill our lives and wish lists. Who am I to turn to? Who do you turn to? Have I turned so much I 360 myself into the rut? Dark days and black nights shoving me back to the pit, I cower beneath the blanket of forgetting. Let me Alzheimers into karma coma, let me drift off into amnesiac’s stupor. Candy for the bottom rock, missing tracks a godsend; send me god, send me death, send me hope and lover’s breath. Wide awake and still I’m falling. Narcissistic abyss, I pause upon reflection.

Through the looking glass. What else ya got?!

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