I don't know, don't ask me. Just somethin' I wrote recently. Seems like my life has been full of ups and downs as of late, and as always there's the potential for so much to gain...but also the potential for even further disasters.
Nothing to do but to go forward with it. Yeap.
Instead of doling all seven pieces of this out, I figured meh, fuck it - just give it to you guys in one big gulp.
Swallow it all down, dear. There's still dessert, y'know?
I died last night in my sleep.
I'm moving, I can feel my eyelids blink, my eyes move, my fingers twist.
But my back aches, and I can't hear my heart anymore. It's quite strange, realizing how much our heart fills our ears, a background song that barely anyone recognizes.
My good ol' buddy ain't moving anymore, and I'm so cold.
I was dead as I walked about.
I see people going about their daily business, and appear to do so as well.
But I hurt, I hurt so much it burns. My heart is dead, a stone rock within me, though I want neither food nor water nor rest. The noise of the city fills me, but I still ache.
I'm just not me anymore, not really. Don't know why, nor if I deserve this.
I am dead, laying on my bed.
I'm still pretending to be alive, even now in the quiet of a restless night.
My neighbors are interesting, and the city never truly sleeps. Like me it's a dead thing, but unlike me it's so noisy. I can hear quite plainly the arguments and grumbling, the sounds of living, loving, hating.
I have died, but I'm still here, ambulatory.
In a park, watching people as they go about their lives, unnoticed.
I miss this, miss being one of them. My heart has stopped, its' thunderous noise replaced with the noise of others. I don't like this, but I can get used to it. Guess anyone can get used to anything.
How dead must I be, if I'm still here, still me?
A new, unsettling thought has entered my supposedly rotting brain.
My heart is dead, but I'm alive. My body is dead, but I'm alive. But I'm not different than others, not at all. Perhaps I'm simply more aware of it now that I can't hear my own heart? I have to figure this out more.
Now that I'm dead, I can see it visibly.
My options without a heartbeat, without a shadow. So limited, yet so open to definition.
I'm dead, this is true. I'm dead now, through and through. Yet within the scheme of things, I have discovered a wondrous thing: worlds without end, choices to make and follow through with.
Dead and buried, good and gone.
All is well 'twixt right and wrong. If I'm there and I'm here, then from whence have I come? Was I always like this? Was I always only going through the motions? Dead all the time?
Without reason and with plentiful joy do I now live, dead as I am. To redefine my life as I am, to live as I wish, even as dead as I am.
My heart skipped a beat, that's all it did. It's still dead, stone cold dead now.
But it plays, it PLAYS! Such wonderful music as I've ever heard.
I heard it, I hear it. The noise of the city, the noise in me.
Joyful, painful, and full of rage. Loving, hating, fighting, needing.
And with each line do I make new rules, as I wish, wonton and willy-nilly. Thither and hither, heckle and jeckle.
A world of my own.
This world of my wishes.
Do I need anything better than this, finer than this? My palate is ablaze, my senses overloaded.
My heart is dead, my brain is aflame.
My tale does not end, even as I have already ended. Perhaps yes, perhaps no.
But with each new line, I will continue. With each line I will learn more, hear more, be more. With or without my heart.