Midnight rants of an insomniac

from Lithium - Thursday, November 22, 2007
accessed 709 times

Tonight I'll drink to oblivion
Tonight I'll smoke some weed
And pop an extra sleeping pill
Don't forget to breathe

Everyone around me struggles to make sense of their lives, some longing for death, some working hard to succeed, others content to settle into a comfortable semi-existence. I don’t feel a need to find purpose, I don't feel a sense of moral compunction, in fact, I feel very little of anything at all. So I surround myself with pleasure, with beauty, with knowledge, like a junky shooting myself up with little injections of gratification. I feast on it greedily like a fat gourmandizing hog, so that for brief spells I feel full of life’s unsatisfactory fast-food. And I very nearly fool myself into thinking that is enough. Until the food spoils in my stomach, the music plays off key and the garish colours fade to gray. Then I realise as I puke up the rot, that there is no black and white, there is no colour. There is only gray in its various shades.

I constantly change and strive to improve myself, my appearance, my mind, to become perfect, to be super human. No one can touch superman. Until I realise I am also the villain and my kryptonite is me. The smooth stone goddess looks good from a distance, but come too close, and you’ll see the cracks and chips of time worn into her cold statuesque comportment.

I become the strong, confident, successful person that people admire. Admire! What an uproarious piece of comical irony. I throw back my head and laugh and laugh…desperately. How come you feel like an idiot when you laugh alone, but everyone cries alone?

You can fool nearly everyone, but never yourself, not really. I’m the sweating child curled into a tight ball careful not to stretch their limbs beyond the safety of her sheet or the monster under the bed will bite off her fingers and toes. I’m the living-dead, unfeeling zombie that feeds on others emotions because I’m devoid of my own. I’m the grinning face of a demon that taunts me in the mirror every time I wash off my mask. I’m Gollum, corrupted and mutated. I’m beautiful, and strong and clever. I’m a multi-coloured chameleon.

How is it you can keep mutating and still be the same deadly virus? When there are no more outside enemies to fight, we turn to self-destruction. The hero becomes the villain and destroys himself.

There is no God and Satan
There is no afterlife waiting
Just decomposing mortals
And it's all so fucking hysterical.