I will play until the sky is black....

A confession in my eyes, a break of silence in yours, the words spoke between tall trees and above soft soil became a story. I wish she had asked me, because I would have answered and told her all the feelings her ears hungered for. I could have said yes, but it wouldn't have changed anything.

None of it was real. Three or four days of a parallel reality, occasionally interrupted by flashes of what I had to go back to. I spent days and nights under the radar, while time swept by in amber ambient light, and I hid in the shadows. We walked through forests and stood by a waterfall, the sound beating fear and images into my vulnerable semi-consciousness. The drive home was missed, I slept, and we got to my house in the late afternoon. The night came quickly, and I was out again, This time, the high crept up rapidly and felt like shards of glass in my bloodstream. My teeth clenched and I became disoriented. I had to leave the group of boys and walk into the woods. I tried to clear my head but my eyes wouldn't stay closed.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I cursed silently. I didn't feel good anymore. I walked back and took a drag off a cigarette. No change. I felt like I couldn't walk. My body said, 'slow down', but we all got up and walked and climbed and fell into a car and drove home.
My dreams were colourful and vivid. The plots were mini-movies and I stayed asleep to watch them unfold.

In the morning there was a fire. I smothered it and the house filled with smoke and fire alarm wails. We laughed afterwards, and the tension eased enough to allow casual conversation.
"What happened to our whiteboard, and why are there burn marks on my scissors?"

Her words fell like pins and needles and reminded me of the words I heard that night iwth the rain, the drinking, the dress shirt, the Bright Eyes..... They came from the same script, and they still felt just as fresh as the day the ink hit paper. My insides contracted and I listened to her harsh tone, her accusatory flicker of hands, and the truths that were so painful to hear.
"Yeah, you're right." And I left it at that, even though the commentary didn't stop inside. You're right. And it needs to stop. But not just this. Everything. I'm losing little pieces everywhere I go. I'm falling apart. I left the room or changed the subject, either way I was gone. I don't speak as much anymore. I can't stop thinking lately. Absorbing and thinking, but not saying much. A calm before the storm.








"Make me your product and I will make you rich, it's still fashionable, isn't it?"
-MGB