Everybody will tell you how to feel. The doctors will tell you to stay positive. Your family will tell you not to feel sorry for yourself. Your therapist will tell you not to be angry. But I will be at the other end, screaming, “I just want my life back!”
I’m going through some shit. And you just think maybe I’m strong enough to handle it on my own. So I lean beside the washroom walls, with a cigar stuck between my fingers. You spit smoke towards the moon. You watch them sail, thinking that they can’t be touched, till your worries etch through. Trouble won’t fade away into the abyss. It doesn’t cut to the chase. So maybe I’m thinking money, sex, drugs and then perhaps an accident. On your playlist plays, “knock, knock, knocking on heavens door”.
And then there’s always the whiskey. Aaah, that’s always been my favorite. So you’re listening to music at the grill. Some sort of a jazz live band. The whiskey has a way of burning every bitter stuffs in my stomach. Then you think about the little happiness you’ve got, and you tell yourself that you owe it to nobody. You think about how easy it is to become sad. And now that I’m at the verge of losing it all. You fought, till you became tired of struggling to find hope in what you believe in. Maybe second chances. But I can’t just give up yet. Cause I ain’t just done yet.
You disdainfully spit towards karma for the bitch that she actually is. I tell it to its face, that I ain’t gonna flinch,nor slouch, nor break a leg. Tell me, has sadness ever despised you for being too much clingy? It has. We’ve become besties, even happiness is jealous of us. But what can I do about it? We don’t choose our friends always, some of us don’t have that luxury.
So there’s an old man passing by, and he stares at my spiky hair. I actually remind him of his days. Somehow. He doesn’t speak much. He says, “Son, it’s easy to move on than to start over”. And he actually makes sense, for once someone reads my mind. ‘Cause I’m draining your thoughts out, and you drinking your bitterness away in a cold Saturday night, alone. And all you trying to fight are the emotions of tugging along. Going back to collect the broken pieces.
Even though, they’ll hurt your ego, that’s the only way to mend a wounded soul. That’s the only way to move on. The more you fighting it, the more real it becomes. And your pride won’t let you. It won’t let me revisit. It won’t let you betray the decision once made. I can’t nullify. Maybe you can, but that just who you ain’t. So you rather sail with the tides, and stick to the smoke and the drink. For you’re in holiday, and it’s gonna take longer than you thought. They’ll wait, but you ain’t gonna come back late.
And then there’s always an anchor to our sanity. The ones that are always truly there for us when we need them. The ones that understands when we don’t need them, so they’ll just let us be. They remind us about life with happiness, they give you a glimpse of it. They can make you laugh and cry at the same time. But not bad, those are the people that make life worth living. They don’t hide behind the faces. They’ll forget about me in an instant. They’ll think of you, they’ll miss you and they won’t hide it. I can be strong for them even at my weakest. And even in sadness, they have the ability to take your mind off the sludge of sadness.
Sometimes I don’t understand my thoughts. You can’t tell if it’s you, or is it the smoke speaking? You can’t tell If you mean it or is it the whiskey thinking ? You wanna go back home, but I don’t wanna be at home. To unclean plates on the sink. To an empty bed and there’s no hope. To a phone with the number that’s no longer in service being dialed. To family portraits hanging on the wall, there’s no sign of you. Just grief and sad melancholies. Nothing ever makes sense, whence I have the drink and the smoke. You can’t clearly sieve through.
But somehow, the lights fade, I fall to another boring sleep, you begin counting days. When will it ever stop? I ask myself, then I do realise that you became a part of me, it’s hard to let you go.
*******
As written by Phill Ibsen
( Master Of Descriptions )
A Heart_Art_Poetics productions
Leave a comment