FroM InSiDe ThE TeNt

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is interpreted from the torn, scribbled files of my journal. It's just a little splinter of a seemingly insignificant memory, but i guess i felt it was kind of a frame for a larger picture. The two names were changed.

Submitted: September 25, 2009

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Submitted: September 25, 2009

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A A A


I crawl into open dark and wrap myself in cotton soft comfort. I stare into nothing, chasing sands of sleep to abduct me into dreams. Post-teen nap me from the uncertain silent destruction ensuing, a phantom flood coming between us. I stare into nothing.
 
Slowly, bodies movie in around me, ghosts of people I was once close to. Their smiles are made of smoke, stretching the lines of their skin. Age is experience, and I’m a child.A pile of clothing soaking in the sweaty exhale stained with hash, last laughs of fading friends.
 
“Who is that?” I mutter a name that is accepted only through aged acquaintance, followed by being offered the last known joys to adults. If age is wisdom, they are children, riding in circles, a merry go round that holds them here, as I fade alone into a background, appealing only to me - alone in reality.
 
More bodies fill the tent, and music fills my ears. I sip warm beer and focus through solid emptiness. A glimmer of soul shows in the comfort of chemically calmed nerves, a step forward socially, backward personally. Gain a friend outside, enemies advance within, and I lie in between the unknown and where I’m accepted comfortably unknown.
 
Across the black sea, she’s staring at me. Cassidy. Dark eyes wonder why. She can’t see through young eyes, why this closeness kills me. She can’t understand ignorance is suicide, and truth never turns the other cheek, not despite the beauty I see, but it is you who is pulling me in, and your sins create this distance as I stand in abandonment of my own principles, abandonment of you, of myself, and of us, in this destined nothingness.
 
………………………………………………………………………………………………………........................................................................................................................................................................................................................
 
You creep up close to me Angelica, but I already know you’re there. Shit, I always feel you with me. Even when I’d rather not. You lean over me in the middle of this dark sky where I lie in suspended animation, running colors blend and then burn, and I drown as through the waters I hear you speak. Your voice is a strip of icy streets across a mountain range, us in this car skidding closer to the guard rails. Is it you driving or I? Or do we wait in this back seat for the oncoming unavoidable. I’m too weak to stop you. You’re grappling with apathy. Or are our souls strangers, in which case why do I love you so much? You’re kiss is distant and dry, the last I hear you say is, “Fuck it, I’ll do a line.”
 
Across the sea she still stairs in a space of invisible stars, and in the fog you disappear – a moment passed you’re again to far to touch, and I here alone, only can I save myself, and one day come back and breath life into your lungs.
 
But will it be too late? I get stronger – you slip away. But in your desperation - will you take my hand? Will I become better without you, or will I only be lying to myself and joining you in a way rushing, slipping, swimming down this drain of a home that was never raised? Can I stand here in this stream of invisible tears and cling to your hand, for without it I too will suffocate, but can I still grip the sun? Can I use everything you still possess to stay strong and wash away this darkness between us...
 
...and see the sunlight of tomorrow morning?


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