Oh diary! How I burn and yet yearn for twisted thoughts in the midnight hour. Sicky sick neurons salivating hungrily. The mind turns to dark wishes. I must have that bloody end, splattered walls the abstract art of my death. The floating dagger speaks to me, hums a pretty tune. Ay Lenore had it lucky, taken without the unnecessary drama. I want that damn bullet burrowed in my head. Jesus or a gun?
Bronson demands swirling in me. Wishes unanswered in a corpse-filled world. Let me dress up as the passed ones, the walking dead with a wig. My heart is screaming for steel embraces, at night I fantasize about the plunge, repeated with gusto. What would Freud say about that symbolism? Options of the desperate; fear of finality and familial guilt. I turn away from my morbid reflections but no escape. The bright future hides from sight.
How does an emptiness morph into at a loss filler? Brimming with pain and psychosis, plump with them. Rolling over in bed, the friend, tossing and turning, bashing skull imagery. All in my head and all in my head. The damage cracks all, edges cutting away. Save me a slice.
I lay turning matters over and again. Failing Turing test as I become the automaton; empty-eyed body drifting through the concrete jungle. Other people’s drama flowing around me, against me, effervescent plumes and mists clutching the numbness. I look on dry, lifeless, teary eyes staring at me demanding answers. I have none, I have nothing for them except a passing fancy. I am more closer to a a cadaver than a lover. I bloom with empathy and affection only to be robbed of it within seconds. Life leeched by invisible insects, mortality a pest to sweep away.
Institutions place me squarely in the thick of it. Psycho analysts telling me what life is, truths of the present general generation. Aphorisms and cliches sputtering from official mouths like damp dictates. They’re passing prescriptions and pills as I lag about, holding knees in an embrace of unawares. Lost highway. A Chinese ghost pulled this way and that, no feet upon the floor, no roost I call home. Rolling stoned through crowded streets, feeling lonelier at each pause. Put on the gregarious mask and slip into an aroused state. Then the smile melts from my face, sour glaze to take its place. Hospitals, knock it all, stripper coos and substance abuse. Hungry for the blade.
Trauma freckles on comatose manchild. Coasting along that highway dropping sense and sensibility. The mania the gutter dive, paranoia in plenty supply. Talk, talk everywhere, secret whispers and ridicule for this pauper prince. Trust no one, hate everyone, love everyone, confusion says. Question the question, curiosity spark wants fire but no tinder for the flame. Give away and rot away before the task is done. Perverse pleasure in daydreaming final cut, lost in imaginings of the macabre. Cursing a god with no belief, beating chest to feel just once, pricks and stabs to find the courage.
Deeper, darker, growing desires. I see that curved blade wrapping round my pretty neck, grasping the last straw, feeling the cool grip against my skin as I gulp with anticipation. The death dealer, sharp pinch and my hand brings it in. Bottom-heavy bisection image burning into my mind, let the vision play again and again til carmen queasy rolls out. Hollow point bullets kissing forehead, gun fun on the brain. So easy isn’t it, yet I don’t get it, don’t search for the magnum opus. The blam blam sound echoes and the record repeats. One small button to erase the board. How long is the wait?
The curtain is called, the play has started. Popcorn and monocles filling airs and putting them on.