“Traces”

I see the vapor trails wind behind the round. I’m not there. I never was there and never will be. I feel the squeeze. I smell the powder. I go deaf.

The ringing. The loss of equilibrium. Singular scenario in motion, waking me from the 15 minute nap.

That’s all I’m getting. Naps. Fragments of peace. That’s only if I don’t dream. Peace has become exhaustion fed micro sleep. Anxiety fuels automatic shutdowns and reboots.

I sit up to curdled stomach acid fighting it’s way up to bleach my teeth. Mouthwash. Wipe away what sweat I can muster then try it again.

Nightmares. Horribly vivid, almost lifelike and absolutely uncontrollable. My sense on high alert. I hear all the sounds and I lay with eyes searching directions in the dark.

Ready. Set. Empty handed. Open to suggestion.

It feels like my blood is oil, trudging thru my veins...my sudden heart palpitations lead to full blown panic and then it changes viscosity and the engine goes nuclear...super heated and charged to a state that makes my skin itch from the intense heat I no longer control under.

It’s 01:11 and I’m awake again.

Sugar Rush. The Repair Shop. MST3K.

Silence is worse.

I can feel the world moving while I attempt to stay still. Every car and truck passing by. The kids moving around in their beds as they dream things or don’t dream at all. That thought along makes me feel like a failure...like did I pass this shit on to them? Do they have happy dreams? Do they dream? Am I doing the right things?

No one has answers. Solutions. Understanding.

Night terrors rule what time I spend trying not to scream. Even during the day. I run scenarios in my head without ability to make them cease for longer than 15 minutes at any given time. I map hallways, floor plans, escape routes, entry points, engagement positions.

Why am I this way? Why am I such a fucked up, weird, macabre, sinister piece of walking empty shit? Why did I get to keep going?

Others deserve a chance...I no longer have belief that this was part of a grand design. Well...if it is a grand design it feels like if SAW & The Cell had a child, it was aborted into my skull and somehow became my symbiote.

My own little cancerous tumor of a would be inner child. Rot that doesn’t consume and yet never goes away.

I haven’t had a cigarette in 96 hours. I don’t even want one. I hadn’t noticed how long it had been until yesterday morning and didn’t know it was Tuesday until I made that connection.

Days become days become...who, what and where am I?

I blink and my eyes ache. It feels like shoving salt into my retinas and lemon juice into my frontal lobe.

I can’t keep writing about these things or sharing them. So until I have something pretty or acceptable or happy I believe it best to go on hiatus from here.

I’ve put enough evil into the world.

It’s about time I shut Pandora’s Box.

My sincerest apologies.