heavydog

As the last vestiges of worth slowly drain from my soul, I’m left with nothing but the searing sensation of heartburn that has failed to be extinguished due to the flammatory nature of a stiff brandy or four. I’ll go and humiliate myself on the sofa infront of a never ending stream of whitewashed youth culture vomiting from my television like so much bloodied bile. After a while I’ll fail to care as my carcrash anxiety and pseudo-intellect vapourise in a cloud of buggeration. Just in time I’ll stop short of a masterwork and wish that I’d never started, or never finished or simply never have been.

Strangley though, I’ll wake to the sound of the dustbin men clanging the lids of my waste disposal, the death nell of the man who works by day, sleeps by night and is fulfilled by nothing except the continued drain on my financial health by those things which are made a neccesity. This fulfilment changes a man and will eventually have eroded so much of my very core that nothing will remain save the tortured, bleached and sunburnt warrior I have come to know as my heartfelt need to be wanted.

Someday I’ll look back on the future I might have had a wish I’d never seen the pictures roll by the boarded up windows of my towerblock of desire. It’s not much to ask and I’ve wasted so many opportunities to complete what is recognised to be a missed Nirvana but never quite attained.

The dreams I had a realised in other dreams and the waking hours are merely the nightmares I must endure before time is up and I must disembark for pastures not.