A Mere Dark Thought

Full of alcohol, not because I drink it but I've always felt like a man left in a bar after 2 because the bartender didn't notice me when he was closing the bar. Just alone with a hundred different bottles to help me temporarily forget, all roads lead to Rome and every time I roam on a road of temporarily forgetfulness it leads to one place: remembering. Maybe I shouldn't have asked for a new set of Lego and I should have let go and not scream for it taking the three of us back with only me to leave through burning flames and the sound of bullets. Maybe we should have gone sooner, or maybe having a set of half burnt Lego wasn't worth losing you two. Maybe we could have gone a different day and months later you'd scream at me for leaving them laying all over the floor, maybe everyone shouldn't have put their anger on a ten years old boy, or maybe I deserved it, maybe I deserved more. Maybe the voices are right and I should have never been born.

Full of fear, not because the darkness hides the demons that terrify me but because it reveals them, the memories that I can't turn off as the sound of that fucking dog barking outside just won't let me sleep. I see that black dog barking below, barking at the fear of the dark, barking at things that only he can see, things he can't explain, I try to avoid him as much as I can, I lay in my bed, soaked in sweat, no power again, nothing but darkness and an unforgivable summer heat. I lay there with my headset with one side barely working, I put both sides on hoping that today it will miraculously start working to no use, all I hear is a sound that I can't tell if it's jazz, blues, or any pop song that made the billboard 100 this week, I also hear that black dog barking loudly, and a dark whisper telling to just go down and snap his neck till it breaks in half, then drive to my older brother's grave, my protector. And I'd just piss on his grave till I'm all dried, then I'd kick his tombstone, one for every time he kicked me around, one for every time he mocked my tears, one for every bloody nose and cut he gave me, a hundred for the scars and burning marks all over my body, and thousands for the scar on my face.

Full of sadness. Not because I never like to laugh, when your life is a joke, you'd have to be blind not to laugh. But because a thousand scenarios of what could have been run through my head, maybe someone could have asked what's wrong, maybe I should have told them when I broke my brother's phone instead of burying it in the backyard and crying myself to sleep on the mud out of fear. Maybe we could have been happy, maybe we could have been just fine.