Picked

Posted on June 29, 2009

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some days you wake up and those are the days you are alive. your eyes open and you take in the things around you. maybe you’ve been lucky enough to find yourself in a warm, soft bed. maybe someone you find beautiful is sleeping beside you. maybe you think you know what love is.

as you walk through the day you are treated to a feast of ideas. in your world there are people that spend a lot of time and a lot of money to show you things. they want to show you their SPECIAL thing, they want you to have it. giving is such a misunderstood thing. you spend most of your waking days trying to get things all in the name of giving. you take what is being given because it makes you happy, you think it makes you happy.

at the end of the days you wonder if anybody is really in this for you, if anybody really cares about you. maybe the breaths of your sleeping loved one are cold now. maybe it is too late to do all the things that you know are right but were just to selfish to do. maybe you lay down in bed and you let yourself slip into a terrible unconsciousness. you give half of your life away to dreams and the other half you give to lies.

pour yourself a glass of water in the middle of the night and piss on the seat of the toilet. you are too tired to wipe it up and too tired to wash your hands. the moon lights your curtains and you feel ghosts all around you in the room, a terrible energy that will never dissipate. everything you’ve ever regretted comes back to you now and you lay quietly playing it all over and over in your head. it is a little electronic war going on beneath the fleshy lumps of your brain.

when you finally fall asleep again you dream of being a flower in a great big beautiful garden. you are vibrant and tall and long. a thin beam of light shines down on you, a faint string that connects you to the greatest warmth; it has pulled you up from the darkness of the soil and made you so special and wanted. you feel perfect as this flower. you feel full of life and full of purpose and you just ARE. there is no tomorrow, there is no before. everything is and the is-ness fills you with the fact that you are nothing but you can never be alone. you are nothing, totally nothing and that is ok.

when a hand drops down from the sky you are yanked from the soil and raised to the nose of a fat little child. the girl sneezes on you and you are covered in her mucus. she drops you to the ground out of the light and you lay in pain. you die a slow and still death and everything fades from you, your essence slowly slips away. but you are not sad because you know from your carcass another flower just like you will arise and though you will not remember anything from before you will be what rises anew, and you will feel the light pulling you once again. you wake up from the dream. you wake up.

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Posted in: June 2009