Nights Like These

The phone keeps ringing, but I don’t pay any attention to it, it’s probably no one I want to speak to anyways. It’s as cold as a grave in this place, but I don’t mind. It seems like I’m just preparing, or maybe already there. I stare blankly at the television, waiting for some kind of subliminal message that will never come. You know it, I know it, everyone knows it. I pour another drink; three cheers for what used to be. I go out to the porch and light another cigarette. I smoked my last one three months ago. When it’s gone I fling the butt into the dead grass, hoping it will spark- one last hoorah. But it just flickers and dies, like everything else around here. I go back inside and sit in the dark awhile, waiting for a miracle. All I get is silence. I’ve tried listening, but no one is talking. I’ve tried talking, but no one is listening. I pour another drink and listen to myself. I am all there is out here; Full of piss and vinegar and spite and remorse, no room left for an ounce of joy. Joy; what a funny little word. I used to know what it meant, but the meaning has slipped from my grasp. Just like everything else that ever meant a damn thing. First it’s there, then it flickers and fades, gone forever. Just as the life of a flame, I feel a little more lifeless each day.

            Its nights like these a man is better off taking a few sleeping pills with a tall drink and just forgetting the day, and trying to forget all the others. Sure, it’s a set up for another failure, but what the hell. Failure is all I’ve got. It sits on my shoulder like a parrot, mocking every move, every word until they too turn into a curse. I’ve got handfuls of woulda’, coulda’, shoulda’, and pockets full of nothing. I tried making that call, that call I should have never had to make in the first place, and I got nothing but silence. Same thing happened when I called God. So now I call the only reliable thing, the only thing in existence where you always know what you’re getting. I pour another drink and stare into the dark, watching the shadows cast by the television with all its smiling faces and real life bullshit that doesn’t really mean anything. It’s just a dagger driving a little bit deeper with every pearly white smile. It would be easier from the back. Instead I have to face my assassins. At least until I turn the TV off, and sit in complete darkness for awhile before stumbling back out to the porch and sparking up another one.

            Its nights like these when you step out the door and hope to see the world on fire; but the flames would just be extinguished by the eternal dark cloud above that pours a river of regret and spite upon my head. I’ve all but decided to start carrying around a block of soap, for the rare moments I show my face to the stars, at least to the place there used to be stars. I can’t stand the presence of people toiling about their merry happy-American-family lives. I can’t stand the sight of high school sweethearts holding hands through your local Wal-mart, knowing those kids will be perfect together. It won’t be long until they will have a family as well. They already have more than me. They have so many reasons to smile, so many things to love. I can’t stand myself and all the things these people have and the fact I just can’t figure out what the hell Is wrong with me and why? Whose cheerios did I piss in anyways?  I’ve always done right, or at least attempted to do right by everyone I’ve ever known. I’ve loved. I’ve prayed. I’ve begged. When I was wrong or could have been better I have apologized. I’ve given the world the old college drop-out try or better and yet the world has no use for me, nor I it. That milk I had walked out to go get? It can wait until I’m starving one day, or maybe a few days after. I wouldn’t want to leave much for the vultures. They get their fill of life’s commodities.

            I’m not sure I believe in a ‘Karma’ anymore. If she exists, she’s probably a hooker from 24^th street and HIV central.  Haven’t been near anything like that, so she couldn’t possibly know me. While we are on the subject of belief and disbelief, can you believe it’s raining outside? I guess it just couldn’t wait for me any longer, but I’ve had my shower today; two of them, actually, simply trying to entertain myself, because on nights like these, a guy like me has to find something to do other than think. It’s not just idle hands the devil works through. With hopeless remorse riding shotgun on my shoulder whispering sweet lullabies about how fucked up I am, it’s not hard to feel a little evil, or at least twisted, after awhile. Maybe I can get the devil drunk before me. I drank happiness under the table eight months ago or so; so who’s to say despair has any better of a chance?

            Its nights like these I keep the lights off. It’s bright enough outside anyways. I don’t want to see anything in here. Not my reflection on the black television screen, not my shadow on the wood floor, not the despair of the same old empty house staring at me and laughing, not the ghosts of the happy past that like to taunt me here. So I have learned with some success to navigate quite efficiently in the dark. Here, In the silence of nights like these, and yes, I’m talking about every night. 

 

Reviews

[Catlen]

This is an excellent piece of work. Your character's desperation is so evident that you actually made me sad and kept wondering if this is you. He feels alienated by everything and everyone in this world and has lost all kind of hope that even makes him consider suicide. Excellent use of language, spotted a few typos, not that it lessened the beauty of your writing, but I'm just saying so.
Keep up the good work!

[A.J.]

thank you so much for your review! I shall get right to the typos. also, your intuition is correct, this is not exactly Fiction.

[Catlen]

Then, my friend I suggest that you not despair. You have such a powerful pen. Use your gift! Try to better your situation through that! Always try to find the bright side of life, even if you can't see it immediately, it's always there. Find something small that makes you happy and hold on to it. I think your writing should be it! I hope everything works out for you and if you ever need an ear, I'm here!

[A.J.]

thank you for your kind words! my writing is my therapy.. getting my emotions 'on paper' always seems to relieve a little of the tension. considering this piece is almost two years old.. Im not usually in quite the same mentality.. not until night that is.

[Catlen]

No matter what you have gone through or may still be going through, don't even dare think about suicide again! It is never the answer! I meant every word. You have a gift! Find a way to use it! And even if it takes time, keep at it!

[A.J.]

oh, suicide isnt an option any more. Im kind of ashamed it ever was, but at the same time; i needed to hit bottom to begin searching for the ladder, i believe. Im ashamed I was ever that weak, but without weakness you cannot find strength.

[A.J.]

not that I want to self promote.. but the pieces A View From a Casket, and 27, to name a few, detail the situation further...

[Meliss@k]

Wow, wow, wow. I'm so surprises that no one else has commented on this yet... This poem was pure brilliance!
I was reading and reading and the length of the poem didn't even phase me. It was the brilliance of the choice of words and how each stanza was written that kept feeding me.
I also connected well with this poem because it just rained today and right as you said, "can you believe it's raining outside?", I wanted to answer back and be like, "I know! We've needed it so badly!"

Anywho, I could go on and on about this poem. It's a shame no one else has encouraged such brilliance in this write yet.

[A.J.]

wow! thank u very much!! :))

[Meliss@k]

You're very welcome!