100 Years Of Solitude

I’ve become acutely aware of this cycle I run. One or two weeks where I’m god, slick rick, tyler durden, cliff booth, the mask, sex on two legs etc etc.

Then the switch happens, over the course of hours, maybe minutes.

Now I am a dirty black crow drowning in tar, a creature slithering in mud too dark to see, a ghost, a grieving widow, a kicked puppy, an abandoned child.

The highest highs. “I wake up every day as me! How could life ever be bad! I can’t believe my luck!”

When the seasons change, sometimes there aren’t even any thoughts. Only dissonant whispers, wailing in the distance, the call of the void, a bell that tolls for whom did you say?

Ah, for me.

It’s exhausting.

For myself, I can’t imagine what it must be like for those around me.

It’s winter now.

The sun is setting on cash sinclair.

Is anyone reading this? perhaps not.

I’m falling asleep again.

Dissonant whispers.

I miss the people that hurt me, sometimes I want them to hurt me some more.

Do the people I’ve hurt ever miss me?

I’ve said it over and over. The last noble thing I can do is to no longer inflict myself on anyone else. I do my best. It can be difficult when so many people present themselves to me.

At first glance the package and decoration may be beautiful and enticing. Watching the smile fade from their faces as they realize what I am and all the ways I’m inadequate is a violence I can no longer survive.

There’s been a pattern the last few years in my life. Every spring and summer I’d end up in a relationship, and then, come winter I’d be alone again.

It happened the same way without fail for years on end, until this one.

There have been many opportunities and suitors.

It’s been nine months, still I. You see, the thing is, how do I explain?

Anyway, it’s my own fault what happens to my heart, so I’m not allowed to complain.

I used to have a unique title under my username in this video game I once played religiously.

“100 Years Of Laughter”