What have I done? I am beautifully crafted with a handful of red, heavily I am bound to this tool until my fingers lose grip. I want to go to that place, the one that calms me, no more shakes. It is a kind of a hunger; I have starved myself for too long, blooded bulimia... that is it. I have painted their life story over these walls; the house will remember the novel until rubble is its end page. Wandering eyes wonder for better times, this wasn't me, I am a protector; it makes no difference as I have no story. My first few chapters were blurred by rainy staining. They won't understand... they never did to me; how can they connect correct actions into opened cuts? I don't know if I feel better, I don't know... shake my head to stir the pot, the truth will be in the end result. Did you hear that? Have I received an extra eye? Seen me murder a man, I could have infected their life, forever.
I re-pick-up my instrument and step to play some notes, if there is more than one, a symphony I will take from their lungs. I map my head around the corner, no one to be hidden, my mind is flickering and in over thought. No more thoughts are my own, taken by haunt, aging on the spot, engaging and caught, that's why they got chopped. Why is there a why? Echoed and yelled, a deadly spell, granted and wished upon, I rubbed the knife and made no wish, Oh well. Come back to the scene, lifeless and no audience showing the elements. I watch him now as I watched him before, in my eyes I visualized this moment over and over and more and more. Fate for him was a date I would never forget, chiselled into my memory each bang with the hammer was a lunging motion with my utensil. Do I truly understand? Do you? ...No. I have killed, to be honest; the rush was a heart thumper that pumped the honesty from my heart. Like my first self sex act in diaries note, yes, this room is unhygienic and grime licked but in either position you would not care unless the thirst was drank away. Why am I still here? Still thinking of this... The deed is done, leave. No, I can't, I want to soak up the enormity of this, when in my life will I get this chance again? Whenever I want, Invincible, untouchable, unreliable, that's a lot of ables. The answer I already know to the question I am about to ask, if that was me, would you cry? Nope, If I was in that state, there would be no humane connection in emotion, a name spoken once in a casual conversation, is that all I am worth? I am a God in my own right now; I can make life and take it from those who do not deserve it.
Just slide down the wall and watch, don't blink, do not even breath heavy, do not give into the fear of what might become from this event, which wants to crash upon you, it is just an emotion within you and you control you. Look at the blade, am I really that stretchy? I am a monster; I am an alien, is that why I did this? My nature is to blame then. The law will be here, I give it hours to days, they will catch up to me and on the third Sunday I shall be judged, so be it. I should stop myself now, put myself out of this world before the misery sets in. What have I done? What have I done?
He should have listened, shouldn't he? My want wasn't that steep for him to jump, his pride and manly standard brought him to his back, his fault, his. The angels are looking down at me with a shaking finger then pointing to the floor, hell bound, look what you've done, I should be putting my hands together to pray but I can't drop the blooded instigator from my finger-tips. No more from his mouth now, that's what I was chasing.
How did I get here? I mean be pushed into doing this... I am smarter and I have stronger will, Murder! ...Murder! ...What have I done!? Perhaps he is lurking in a slumber waiting to see me cry and jumping from this story, perhaps not. Let myself now be judged by me and me alone, I am one of those people who should be locked up indefinite, kept from socializing, kept from me, I deserve what he got tenfold, just a matter of timing. Step to the window, this maybe the last time to see and feel freedom. Look at the instrument again, play it one more time, now for your encore, show this world what truly happens to man when he is cornered by the world, God, take your life in to your own hands and scream to the Heavens so that Hell shakes even the darkest of souls. My actions are not meant for this world, so neither I am, do it, do it now. Spread your wings and give back to the world what it has given you. Look... this is me, is it what you wanted? Well, you finally have. What have I done? What have I done?
----
Shit! Even my dream world has been taken over by my murderous workings, so not cool, dude. Rollover, try again.
My eyes detach from sleep, the dopey reaction from the drugs ripples through me, still as gentle waves of peace and self-respect. I feel another addiction coming over me.
A planted prominent person protrudes insulting impulses in the corner of my safeguarded room.
"At least you have made something of yourself, you're more famous than most celebrities and all you had to do was kill me." He steps down from the shadows; it's my fearless featherless father. Scorched and scarred forever in stone I have sculpted. I should have etched my names initials into his fucking forehead.
"Don't make me destroy you again; didn't you get the hint last time we battled? Dig your way back to Hell, I'm trying to sleep." I box my pillow with my fist to find a cold spot. "But son, I am dead and I am only here as an after effect of the drugs. You know you cannot terminate me without destroying yourself, I'm a part of you, I'm your dark cloud, which follows you; you can run but never hide. So, is this the end plan for my son?" I lift my head in annoyance.
"Well it's not exactly to plan, but the main boss in life's game has been beaten, I have completed the final level, now bring on my ascendance into a legend. I should be thanking you; I wouldn't be here without you, yeah, I am lacking freedom, but at least I got Jessie away from you. Now fuck off and leave me be, you weren't there for me when you were alive and now you've been shooed away, I can't really get rid of you, eat shit!"
The shadows either swallow him back or he disintegrates and merges with them.
Pinching out the repeated sleet from my eyes edge, I wait and wait. A clang clambers from outside my door, it's at the end of the corridor, this is either breakfast on its way or someone has broken in with the biggest fucking gun to put this world out of its misery; that's what I would do folks.
"Yo! Don't be feeding those crazy fuckers before me; my sane stomach is aching here, me first, me first."
"Breakfast time; would you like a few slices of toast or a sandwich?"
"Gimmie' the sandwich dude." I rive and snag at the plastic covering stopping me from eating. "I would have asked for a pepperoni pizza but I am guessing this hotel doesn't have a chef who'd grill-up a monster of meal this early?"
Breakfast-boy giggles. Through a breathing guard, I peep, I can't really see his face properly; I see he has eyes and a fringe, which almost eats whatever face I can witness. Little does this spotty freak know, one criminals manslaughter is another man's laughter, he should hold back his humour.
"And... Here is your drink." It's slid under the door.
I look in the cup... there swimming in the polystyrene, water. "Hey-hey-hey! What the fuck is this?" His head bobs and weaves to get a better look at what I have to show him, if I weren't so hungry and thirsty I'd probably reach out my latch, he's ever so close. "It is water, no coffee or tea in the asylum, doctors' orders; no stimulants. Sorry." In this moment, my world has officially ended, a life without the wake-up call from Mr. Coffee. I am contemplating suicide as from now on, world do not morn me.
"You motherfucker, can I ask you a question? Are you the oldest of your siblings?" He takes a step back as my mouth gets closer to the breach for what I get to eat.
"No, I'm the youngest."
"Good, for giving me water in the morning, I wish your flabby-fucking-mother had a vasectomy after the second youngest of her retarded kids was shit-out of her. You can fuck-off, bye."
I sit on my beds edge, the cut corner-to-corner cheese and ham sandwich is pure sex in my mouth. I am that starving, I have forced my taste buds to orgasm.
I notice a pad of paper and rubber safety pen on the table; on the ledge of the table sits a stack of novels, Stephen King's, The Stand, Edgar Allen Poe's Horror Story Collection, a Bible and Sun Tzu's The Art of War. Before the boredom descends in the room; a lucky idea fashions in my eyes, write; no one else will pick up that pen for you. Furnish your future.
My face resting on my fist I try and force another thought, I tug at brain strings and relive really-really-really awesome family times.
If I just write something, it is sure to let loose everything primal from the sharp chasms of my skull. Therefore, it begins... As soon as I start I can't stop, this pen is moulded to my fingers; this pen is now a monster, it's the only one which really gets me.
A Twelve-hour dark-hole has charcoaled my eyes. I see a mirror when I stare at a page. Fox-trotting around a sheet of musical artistry, a selfish candle hoarder I am; my fans will call me the boogieman, I only show face in the dark. A pocket-sized voice bops at my noggin.
What if this isn't good enough? All my might, all my effort, will they take my work into their own hands and crumple the first face of me? Should I save them the trouble and destroy it myself? But, how will I know if I don't try? I can always create a pseudonym for myself, that means I will have to start off as a no one and even then, it will be slavering adventure.
Everything is telling me to stop, scribe my last scrap and leave it at that. Although, I have this nagging feeling if I do lay down my arms, they have all won, and I cannot allow that to happen. Confused, confounded and closed off. Ticking my pen off the dark red wooded desk; biding time, abiding mine, about damn time.