Flowers didn't seem to burn anymore. Nothing did. What didn't make me feel terrible made me feel numb. The walls are not closing in on me, they are falling away, which is much more terrifying if you ask me. I would much rather be snug than falling away. Nobody asks me though. I think later I will not want to be asked, but as of now I could use someone asking. Ask me anything. I cannot promise I will not lie.
I have lied before.
We should not get into that though. It is hurtful and I do like it. It does not make me feel good about thinking of past things.
(authors note; I know this song was sung by an orphan but let us be honest, it was a made up story and is now sung but anything but orphans.)
The sun will come up tomorrow they say, or at least that is what little girls like to sing. You never see a poor child singing that song. People who have no earthly problems are the only ones who worry that the sun will not come up in the morning. They have so much they want to do, places to see, people to love, pleasures to be had. Poor folk secretly pray that the sun will not make it up tomorrow. The pain and troubles ended before the end you. If you cannot finish the race, would it not make things better if a storm cancelled the whole event?
A bad day for a comfortable person is reason for depression because it is the lowest they have ever been. For one who has none, a bad day means the next day will be worse.
The pills and the 750 ml bottles seem to drag you through the shit worse than trudging through on your own. They say they will help you fly over or at least give you boots to wade through it, but it just allows you not smell it until its caked all over your body and in your mouth. Just walk through with your eyes ahead and at least you will see the parts of your body to wash when you are out. This whole world cannot be a field of filth yet.
The stupor and fog passes with the morning breeze. Walking down to the cafe helps scrape the film away. It is still there but I can see well enough. I can talk to people again. It is nice to be able to look at their faces instead of their shoes.
I have two dollars and twelve cents. That is a cup of coffee and one refill. I want to be thankful for the little things but it is hard when you realize what the little things cost.
I do not like to think of the night I became hopeless. Having a good time naturally brings me back to it though. I cannot experience good without remembering the good that was taken from me.
He did not have to shoot her. He could have took my wallet and her thin gold necklace and had a perfectly good time. Maybe he knew though. He knew that it would buy him only a few more days and nights of escape. Maybe this was his giving up. He knew the police would find him. He did not even hide. After he killed her and shot me, he just sat down on the curb and cried. I did not hate him. I could not believe him. He was not sorry he did it, he was sorry it came to it. He had no choice in his mind.
The police handcuffed him. He said he was sorry. He was not sorry he got caught, sorry he killed her and not sorry he was doomed. He was sorry he had to do it. Natures of man want to bring others with them wherever he goes. Up or down we want company. See you in hell or I'll join you in heaven. Whenever you go and wherever, take companions.
I could not work a job afterwards.
I lost most feeling in my right arm. My pelvis was shattered by his first shot and my spine on the second.
I lost the will to work. I do not receive anything as far as disabled payment. It goes to my medical bills and my nose plugs. Being estranged from your family offers little goodness when you are not independent or have no purpose in life.
I walk to my change jar. I receive five cents for my bottles. I found five dollars on the ground the other day. I have seven dollars and fifty eight cents. I do not know what to do with it.
I sit down and just look at it. There is no point in saving anything anymore.
I do not know what to spend it on.
I have lied before.
We should not get into that though. It is hurtful and I do like it. It does not make me feel good about thinking of past things.
(authors note; I know this song was sung by an orphan but let us be honest, it was a made up story and is now sung but anything but orphans.)
The sun will come up tomorrow they say, or at least that is what little girls like to sing. You never see a poor child singing that song. People who have no earthly problems are the only ones who worry that the sun will not come up in the morning. They have so much they want to do, places to see, people to love, pleasures to be had. Poor folk secretly pray that the sun will not make it up tomorrow. The pain and troubles ended before the end you. If you cannot finish the race, would it not make things better if a storm cancelled the whole event?
A bad day for a comfortable person is reason for depression because it is the lowest they have ever been. For one who has none, a bad day means the next day will be worse.
The pills and the 750 ml bottles seem to drag you through the shit worse than trudging through on your own. They say they will help you fly over or at least give you boots to wade through it, but it just allows you not smell it until its caked all over your body and in your mouth. Just walk through with your eyes ahead and at least you will see the parts of your body to wash when you are out. This whole world cannot be a field of filth yet.
The stupor and fog passes with the morning breeze. Walking down to the cafe helps scrape the film away. It is still there but I can see well enough. I can talk to people again. It is nice to be able to look at their faces instead of their shoes.
I have two dollars and twelve cents. That is a cup of coffee and one refill. I want to be thankful for the little things but it is hard when you realize what the little things cost.
I do not like to think of the night I became hopeless. Having a good time naturally brings me back to it though. I cannot experience good without remembering the good that was taken from me.
He did not have to shoot her. He could have took my wallet and her thin gold necklace and had a perfectly good time. Maybe he knew though. He knew that it would buy him only a few more days and nights of escape. Maybe this was his giving up. He knew the police would find him. He did not even hide. After he killed her and shot me, he just sat down on the curb and cried. I did not hate him. I could not believe him. He was not sorry he did it, he was sorry it came to it. He had no choice in his mind.
The police handcuffed him. He said he was sorry. He was not sorry he got caught, sorry he killed her and not sorry he was doomed. He was sorry he had to do it. Natures of man want to bring others with them wherever he goes. Up or down we want company. See you in hell or I'll join you in heaven. Whenever you go and wherever, take companions.
I could not work a job afterwards.
I lost most feeling in my right arm. My pelvis was shattered by his first shot and my spine on the second.
I lost the will to work. I do not receive anything as far as disabled payment. It goes to my medical bills and my nose plugs. Being estranged from your family offers little goodness when you are not independent or have no purpose in life.
I walk to my change jar. I receive five cents for my bottles. I found five dollars on the ground the other day. I have seven dollars and fifty eight cents. I do not know what to do with it.
I sit down and just look at it. There is no point in saving anything anymore.
I do not know what to spend it on.
