rabbithole.

The streets intersect like a child has created them, laying down a ruler and making lines every which way. Each new boulevard breaks out into another, and when the sun goes down, the criminals escape up through the darkness and into the light. What makes this place so different in the night? What creates that musky smell? Where is the breeze coming from? Have these people just started their day, are they ending it, or do they even sleep? What creates the energy that drips down the brick walls of old buildings? I want to slip through time like an old story. All the ghosts of people who have stood here before me, years before me, thinking the same things I’m thinking. Am I in their story or are they in mine?

There’s a door that wasn’t there before the sunset. I slide against people losing themselves in liquor. I forget my name, I forget where I’m from, I forget my good manners. On the wall are paintings of people dying and masks cast out of plaster without eyes, without mouths. They make judgements and I know I’d best act accordingly. The walls are red, the lights are red, and I’m spinning in circles, spinning and spinning, circling down into the drain of the floor and into some new mentality. It’s okay here. I’d fancy another drink. I’m kill for someone to see me and remind me I’m real.

I like this disregard for reality. I am sick with disassociation. If I stay a little longer, maybe these will be my people. I think I’ll like it. I shake my head a little bit. I don’t know. Where am I and how far away am I? Can I get a little further? I need a constant – no, I want a constant. But I’m afraid of breaking the line. Ruining the connection. I shake my head a little bit. Am I awake, or am I dreaming, or am I somewhere in-between? I keep finding pieces of myself on the floor. I am crumbling as I walk. I am limping with lost legs. My cerebellum is rupturing. My grey matter is tingling. A treasure hunt for myself – I’m winning, I’m winning!

I am so far gone that I come full circle; I find myself again.

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