Bit Part Player

If echoes were truly a dream, I would've vanquished the demons that live inside. Instead I'm left with dreams of a corruption of identities. Profit and loss, an inevitable part of daily life. I slowly come to terms with the rejection. My biggest dream became a nightmare of my own making. Taking pictures on smartphones, it was a religion, I knew only to myself. Part of my disconnection grew ever more. I still get my pills from there. Slyly though, there's a girl who passes on her discount to me. We seem to chat - a default of nationality. And in a default of my sexuality, I wonder how it would be if it were seen as an affair. It probably wouldn't, but the thought intrigues me.

He's very nervous around me.....it's kinda funny, I suppose. The trapped anxiety of a waking nightmare, the sound of euros in tills being missed due to my own inadequacy to his expectations. Steamrollers my joy into a deathless agony. But I move on. Slowly. Through the trail of a snail, I mirror her in a different way.

A negative demeanour. A difference in approach. When my life crashes into a single, monotonous depression that I'm anxious to hide. I want to hide in everyone but my feelings overpower me. I get no consistency being a bit part player in a wide ranging role. It would've been nice to know the nicer elements of it. If there were any but I could be dreaming. I usually am. What playlist has he made today? Which one should I play? And my own end up sounding like a cosmic space funeral.....a rather apt term that described my life at that point. Context of dimensions, how far does it go?

In ways, I suppose I'm looking for outside emotional support. If I stay inside, it'll kill me. The motion of chance and change, my language has become deadened even at its rotten core. I have her feelings to think of. Even as she improves, I disintegrate. An emotionless, barren run of a dream not worth fighting against. How fortunate am I to want anything at all?

They are all hugs. Part of me doesn't understand this nature, this touchy feely aspect to it all. For me, it was all repression throughout my life. Male ego. To slag and banter. Even if I didn't like it all that much. What difference does it make? Well it's shellshock and go. Loosely described banal pleasantries and feelings, it was a little private victory at the start. But the inadequacies are felt right from the start. And they gnaw into me like piranhas or the secret teenage abusive love affair with the razorblade. Sometimes it still cuts.

Mysteries and illness.....my biggest vices feeling through as if a segment of partition from a lifetime ago. I withstand the secret sympathies and tortured agonies. Everybody loves, everybody dies. Everybody buries the body outside. So out of mind.

The occasional meet up for pills and supplements. In my weary state, could you take what's left of me and drain it down the sink? I feel I'm of no use anymore. I could deal with the finest you give me. I'm always amazed by the charisma you exude to your customers. The finest performances and the most knowledgeable in your field of expertise. It's just a shame I got the other side of your crazed persona. The one that belittles and spies from underneath the wires.

I disintegrate and melt into a thousand different bodies not one touching another. A vision of future, a prospect from hell. I dreamt of a Canadian summer and winter to compliment how torn apart I am. No decency in failing even their most basic hopes in me. Why continue a losing battle?