Wednesday, February 4, 2009


It's at this point you're hoping for hypothermia to kick in.

The way things are going, you're a visitor in my home now.

You keep walking, head down, listening to another depressing song. It's on loop. You can't really get the thoughts out of your head efficiently, they keep popping up and making it all seem like an endless chant. You're not in the right state, and you're stumbling from one side of the road to the other. It's at this point that you hope for a car to go out of control nearby.

You're not who you were in that picture anymore, that's for sure.

It's not really a question of how far you walk, just as long as you're walking. Not to keep warm, not to keep yourself from thinking, just to move and consider yourself capable of moving. It's now that you realize you've been alone in your own home for some odd months now. It's at this point you realize every one else in your family means more to you because all they see are your mistakes. All you see are you mistakes too though, it's all you want to see, it's all you ever see it's all you can ever make out in the mist. You're usually too busy making the positives better to take them into consideration. You focus on the negatives so you can make them better and get them off the list. You're fat inconsiderate incapable of trust. It's at this point that you know you're still going to be alone when you walk in the door.

Get in the car... please. No.

It's right now that you keep on walking in a criss cross criss cross on the road and wait for some one anyone to swerve. You don't want to die, you don't want to get mortally wounded, you don't even want to get hurt that bad. A minor sprain break fracture. Something to get you away from all the constant time and life movement. It's all too stressful and you need something that seems tragic so people think it's not your fault that you got hit. If it's because of this party, it's not because you can't take the pressure of being you.

Where are you going?

You'd think it would matter, arriving somewhere. It didn't. You'd think it would matter, that you're cold. It didn't. It was the self torture you get off to. The thing that keeps you going. If they didn't insult every new idea you had, or anything you were proud of, you wouldn't want to prove them wrong by making it better. It's at this point that you start to walk home.

Did your father pick you up?

You don't want to go back because you want to see them. You want to go back because it's warmer than it is outside, and you know you're being stupid and stubborn. You don't even know why you left in the first place. It was just the rebellious thing to do at the time.

I'll be gone in six months.

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