The doors are all closed, a body lies in the hallway arms and legs tossed open, as if they were pretending to be found in a sea of empty promises. Waiting for a kindred soul to open a door and play an empathetic tune that will raise the body from its loose-limbered slumber. The tune rises in pitch, peaking at a note, sustaining it. A foreigner to the empathy given through the tune, foreign to the love that was supposedly given to me as a child, my mind is a lie, my pain is a lie.
My fears are all real; a slow breathing sensation pulsates throughout my veins.
I’m scared to fall asleep all of the demented dreams that haunt my mind awaken me in a frenzy of clinched fist and blood shot eyes. Dreams of what life would be like if my father came to me and taught me things the way they say they should.
The doors are trembling around me, I don’t want them to open, and I’d rather live here alone and not have you buzz around me like buzzards hungry for a new prey.
I like to believe that no one ever means it when they ask you “how you are doing today?”
I’m learning to hate the world slowly laying here in my island.
I not even god can have me, how can someone I don’t believe in save me? I no longer am the little boy who wants to think there are angels waiting to take me up and live happily in eternity.
My mother was taken by “God” right? Yeah I don’t believe that I just know that she was sick and died and I never got to tell her I loved her. I stopped listening to pastors and bibles at the age of 7.
I started listening to my own thoughts more. I’ve learned to be creative.
But yet I still can’t open these doors, I got tired of trying. Maybe I’ll learn when I’m older.
For now I’m going to lie here and continue to watch things around me age and morph.