This Night

This is everything from a cry for help to the most important passage I have ever written. I hope to never have another night like this, where I wander the streets just to feel the rain and know that I am real. Penetrating heartbreak fills my chest causing me to become so numb I question the very existence of my life. I torture myself with self-delusion and sad songs just to become lost on a street I can’t even guess the name of; the night drags on and I can feel my brain slowly dying—each brain cell on its own passageway to hell. I’m lost in thoughts of things that shouldn’t be questioned—words my voice isn’t strong enough to pronounce and my mind isn’t comprehensible enough to understand.

   Topics of unimaginable guilt and frustration consume me in their entirety leaving me here, in the dark somewhere between home and not. Jealousy and bitterness become life in its entirety; they surely are an identity on their own, a puppet master that controls me. I wander deeper into the night in hopes of finding some type of salvation but all I find are more questions and self-loathing that drives me deeper into a night that has started and ended badly.

    If it rains hard enough nobody knows you’re crying and you are free to walk where you please but sadly it rarely seems to rain hard enough—tonight it doesn’t seem to rain hard enough. I want to go to sleep and wake up a month from now just to give myself the time it takes to forget what I hold on to. I sense danger in my mind but for some foolish reason I press onward deeper into the night, deeper into the passageway of regret and loathing. Jealousy guides me and continues to control my thoughts and fair wishes.

    I can’t seem to do anything but walk and stare off into the distance for my mind is consumed trying to solve a puzzle that ends sadly. If I had a voice I can’t help but wonder where I would be right now—for surely anywhere but here would be an improvement. This instance in time seems to be the worst it could possibly be. I have trouble pulling one positive from this heavy air filled with nothing bad things I don’t want to hear.

   There’s a sinking feeling that seems to radiate through my chest and I can’t stop it. No matter where I walk or how far away I think I am from the problem I seem to always have this sinking feeling, like I want to curl away forever. On nights like tonight that feeling seems to get emphasized and every thought that crosses my mind only serves to continue the cycle. Right now I only have one thought and I hate it for it is not a happy one. It won’t go away or leave my mind. I’m left trying to guess where I went wrong or why fate is so cruelly twisted.

   I don’t know where I’m walking to and it’s even gotten to the point I don’t even care if I get there in one piece—a self destructive pile of rubble stumbling on a path that surely doesn’t lead anywhere nice. Each footstep hits the ground awkwardly and inefficiently, I nearly fall often but somehow I remain on my feet. I would rather be on the ground. I would love nothing more than to sit down right now and stay here for the night.

   Cruel thoughts evict my brain and stop snowball through the path of memories that lines the way down a slippery slope. And I’m shaking although I must admit it isn’t cold. Get out of my head and let me be, for you make it feel like my sanity is slowly slipping—basic social conventions have become a chore, and once I complete one it’s like a small victory that to anyone else is just another moment of another day.

    And now I’m hungry, it seemed like my stomach is always empty—living off the flavors of basil and cottage cheese—too much salt, too many of this, not enough of that. I must admit for this night—and this night only I miss the taste of meat.

   And the slight lisp that follows me and keeps me from speaking properly or fluently as I would like becomes apparent for on this night nothing goes right. And as I waste time trying not to pronounce th as an f you seem to get away. I can’t help but feel a symbolic message encoded in me, carried through the word “with”. For each time I incorrectly pronounce it you become farther and farther away. Wif, witf, wif, wif, wift.

   This night is built wif an icy rain that melts away the possibility of desire. I imagine walking home wif pride but I seem to be carrying the passage of insanity. I want to go to sleep and forget what I have been told—wake up in the morning more lethargic wif each passing day. Someday I’ll forget this date in time and everything it could represent but for now the numbers it contains are free flowing through my brain.

   Where am I? Surely home is a distant place, the rain is cold but that’s okay. Time holds no meaning for the sun will never rise. I will awake tomorrow far from where I want to be and I still haven’t figured out—this sentence doesn’t even seem worth finishing.

   It’s not raining hard enough, but this might be the worst night of my life. I am left so lost, questioning my questioning with no cause or pursuit. Simply empty, each footstep is meaningless, each word is meaningless. Every coincidence that I worked so hard to build is torn down with the disillusion that I also founded. I pray morning comes quickly; I can’t handle another second of this place I live.