Thursday, July 28, 2011

Vermeil

My hands shake.

Even a task as mundane as holding my pen steady enough to lay ink to the page requires every bit of my muscular focus.

It's almost funny, really.

What good is the somber calmness of my mind if my body simply takes control of itself at the slightest hint of stress?

What good is this internal quiet when my body screams for satisfaction?

What good is this still reflection when all that I want to do is stand up and run until the spasming of my muscles cracks my ribs?

What good am I?

What good have I ever done?

Why do I choose to endure this psychosis in the interest of making myself numerically useful?

Why do I bother to combat the ever-present call of that half empty bottle?

It would be so easy...

It would be so easy to destroy this life.

It would be so easy to disassemble what I have built.

It would be so easy.

The tools are all right here in front of me, contained within the clutch of my fingertips, on ice.

Just one more sip...

It would be so easy...

One more sip.

One more slip of the knife.

One more inch off of this windy ledge until gravity overtakes the hesitation.

One more unit of angular acceleration; one more ounce of force against the sides of these wheels to break the friction beneath these tires and send the bitter kinesthesia of my desire spinning over the guardrails of this unwanted purpose.

One more hollow casing ejected from the chamber of this smoking firearm.

Just one more sip.

The power is more intoxicating than the substance itself.

That unbridled control over something; anything.

It would be so easy.

So why do I fight it?

Why do I continue to deprive myself so that I may concentrate on living?

Why do I continue to give up the things that I love so that I may continue to fight away these dark compulsions?

Why can't I just give in?

Why can't I allow myself that critical moment of weakness?

Why can't I lose hope?

Why are you still worth it?

I will never even fucking know you.

Why are you still worth it?

2 comments:

  1. I don't know what good you have done but I see good in you in your writings. The fact that you question everything makes me belive that you have much to offer. You are not judgemental or egotistical in your opinions- just forthright. I know that you cause me to pause and think when I read your posts. I don't always agree or even like what you say, but still pause to consider nevertheless. Sometimes your writings- like this one- cause me to worry for you. I think you are worth much more than you believe.

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  2. I wish that there were words for expressing gratitude more sincerely than "thank you," but in my years of writing, I still have yet to find any.

    So thank you. You are profoundly kind.

    I will not tell you not to worry. That is your prerogative. However, just know that although the sorts of emotions and impulses contained in the post above do occupy a significant portion of my thoughts, I feel that to act upon them would be foolish. It would be a supreme waste of a life, and waste is something for which I do not harbor much tolerance.

    I hope that you have a wonderful day.

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