Intoxicating – Part 1
Why are the scars overshadowed. Curious. Intended vs normal. Bleeding puss and the leaking scabs are welcomed sadly when sober. A representation of not knowing what’s happening in the world. Self inflicted naïveté. The reflections of better people are represented across the screen as I write this. Walking their pets or encumbered by fluffy jackets in the cold they beg to be a phase. They are bitter, thrilled or excited. The dream of another day. It’s meaningless, that’s what some fail to realize. There won’t be any spiritual realizations. What you’ve stumbled upon is a broken person that idolizes broken people while desperately wishing they weren’t one themself. A rare sort of self loathing inspires the cut of a knife. Not a suicidal attempt. But the chance to inflict self harm gives one a moment of defiance. It appears that death is only blessed to those with the courage to embrace it. Those that unhappily dance between are challenged. Understand if you can. Making a poor decision is a lucid but sobriety doesn’t mean much when racing toward the next high.
A lesson was learned in the ward. Don’t ask other why they wear the pink ribbons. Some enjoy the release of explaining their trauma. ‘Stuck a knife through my neck” and others shelter their cuts. Hidden bounty. They are the ones that wish for an interrogation. Silently sitting, begging for an opportunity to explain. Ask and prepare for lie. Fraudulent diagnosis but they remain in the same halls as the others. With the crazy eyed loons. The aggressive wife beaters. Heroin addicts. He stares at me now. It’s an empty expression. I’m moments from a ride in an ambulance and an escort into the ward with the understandable restraints. Benjamin is his name. He asks, “Do you believe in the message of Jesus Christ?” No. But his pamphlet and the suddenness of it all. He smells like shit, lacks clothing so he’s garbed in a patients gown but plop him mute in any city and the poor son of a bitch would fit in. Bowl cut and all. Arms are shaking but Ben extends the message of the lord and I accept it. Never read it. Being polite can be rather submissive sometimes. “cool, thank you” that word of jesus would find solace in the bin outside the door.
They remain. Clearer than anything. Knife didn’t work. Could tattoo over them but they shouldn’t be hidden. Spending the night with a roommate that would only wake for an hour or so every day. Bless him. Some aren’t meant to live long lives. It’s a truth vailed by dark curtains and sheltered blinds. Don’t look at me. Stares are intoxicating.
Photo by Ali Yahya