frosty_gurl02
12-11-2003, 07:13 AM
I can’t sleep. This makes me sad.
The house is dead to the world, its breathing is the creaking of the floorboards as I place my feet down on the carpet and wander down the hall to the washroom. The sensor light instinctively switches on as I glide by. Someone else’s ghost. I step over a shoelace laying in the middle of the floor. It looks abandoned and alone without it’s matching counterpart. I throw down the toilet seat cover and sit with my elbows resting on my knees, my hands cupping my chin.
And I cry.
I cry so hard.
I do not feel like being descriptive today. I do not feel like writing another story.
I do not feel like looking someone in the eyes and pretending everything is going to be okay.
Because it’s not.
“Life is what you make it, la de da.”
La de ****ing da.
Well this is all I’m making of it tonight, and every other night I am alive.
Washrooms with grime collecting in the corners.
But I did have a conversation with a bug in the bathtub. We stared at each other for a few moments before it smiled at me and told me to cheer up.
Things could be worse. I could be like him, a bug in a bathtub, the whole world white and impossible to climb out of.
“But I might as well be,” I told it. “I might as well be. All it takes is for someone to turn on the faucet, and I’ll be swept down the drain. And for a moment, they will be sad as they see me spin around with the whirling water. And they will watch as I am briskly sucked down into the pipes. They will feel for a minute and then they will forget. They will forget just as fast as I am washed away.”
The bug laughed.
“But it’s a party down there.” He said. “One big amazing party. We float on our backs and balance drinks on our stomachs.”
“But that is what I do anyways. Lay on my back while men suck the life out of me through straws.”
“You’re crazy,” the bug said now. “Truly crazy.”
“That’s because I let such silly things run my life.”
“But that is not why you cry, is it?”
“I cry because I don’t know what else to do. I’ve become unrecognizable to myself, almost like a dream I can’t remember.”
“I recognize you, though.”
“Oh yeah?” Tilting my head, I raised an eyebrow and smiled inquisitively, “Who am I then?”
“You’re a ****ing coward.”
The house is dead to the world, its breathing is the creaking of the floorboards as I place my feet down on the carpet and wander down the hall to the washroom. The sensor light instinctively switches on as I glide by. Someone else’s ghost. I step over a shoelace laying in the middle of the floor. It looks abandoned and alone without it’s matching counterpart. I throw down the toilet seat cover and sit with my elbows resting on my knees, my hands cupping my chin.
And I cry.
I cry so hard.
I do not feel like being descriptive today. I do not feel like writing another story.
I do not feel like looking someone in the eyes and pretending everything is going to be okay.
Because it’s not.
“Life is what you make it, la de da.”
La de ****ing da.
Well this is all I’m making of it tonight, and every other night I am alive.
Washrooms with grime collecting in the corners.
But I did have a conversation with a bug in the bathtub. We stared at each other for a few moments before it smiled at me and told me to cheer up.
Things could be worse. I could be like him, a bug in a bathtub, the whole world white and impossible to climb out of.
“But I might as well be,” I told it. “I might as well be. All it takes is for someone to turn on the faucet, and I’ll be swept down the drain. And for a moment, they will be sad as they see me spin around with the whirling water. And they will watch as I am briskly sucked down into the pipes. They will feel for a minute and then they will forget. They will forget just as fast as I am washed away.”
The bug laughed.
“But it’s a party down there.” He said. “One big amazing party. We float on our backs and balance drinks on our stomachs.”
“But that is what I do anyways. Lay on my back while men suck the life out of me through straws.”
“You’re crazy,” the bug said now. “Truly crazy.”
“That’s because I let such silly things run my life.”
“But that is not why you cry, is it?”
“I cry because I don’t know what else to do. I’ve become unrecognizable to myself, almost like a dream I can’t remember.”
“I recognize you, though.”
“Oh yeah?” Tilting my head, I raised an eyebrow and smiled inquisitively, “Who am I then?”
“You’re a ****ing coward.”