I close my eyes and count to ten

Nothing. The absolute darkness of the early REM stage crosses my mind. And with that crossing, a million daggers rush into my head like sperms trying to fertilize an infant nightmare that never ceases to realize my never ending fears. As always, my sleep is restless. A horror movie plays 24/7 purposed to bring terrorizing abnormality to the sleeping corpse carrying my name.

Praying for mind negligence of where I've been

It's still dark. Dark enough to wonder whether I've woken up in a dark room, whether I'm still asleep with my eyes shut to the world, whether I'm having a blackout, or whether I'm dead… lying helpless in my coffin. There's a face in the background that would probably stay unrecognizable to me through out the living fantasy I'm waltzing through. I wish I could tango, but I have no partner to share the music with. The face gets a little figured out in the dark. A face of a man and all I can see is his eyes staring quietly at me in the dark. Those judging eyes I've tended to place in front of me as I waltz into the darkness and through the tunnel that should eventually lead to the light that still seems far, far away from here.

I close my eyes and sleep away

I decide to, subconsciously still, branch out of the tunnel into a hall. The hall appears to be a theater with a big stage, the biggest I've ever seen. The curtains are old fashioned red with those yellow coils that you see in old movies that tend to tie the corners together. The light dims out. I'm destined to stay in the dark. And then there was light. A light spot focusing on a seat in the middle of the balloon headed fake audience. Supposedly, I suppose, the best seat in the house. I sit down and wait for the play to begin. Await my destiny to emerge. The stage lightens up and a violin starts to play in the background of my head. The stage is almost empty. All there is is a fake wooden tree, a mannequin with a meaningless grin on its face, and a rocking chair in the corner. The violin still plays on the tunes of the late Mozart.

Bearing a prayer for my soul to stay

I couldn't take the nothingness and the violin being put together in the same room. The same dream. I exploded. I got up and sang gospel hallelujah for 20 seconds, or at least that's how long I felt it took. The violin stopped and a long Sshht rang in the hall. I shut my mouth and regained my seat. My best seat in the house.

Weary is the way I've been

Smoke starts to appear on stage out of no where. A naked man followed on stage, tied up by strings to the ceiling, pretending to be a puppet. Or is he really? I still can't make his face out. And so the play begins. The faceless man grabs the mannequin and starts dancing with it. The violin plays one tune and then it stops. The faceless actor drops the mannequin and stands there still staring at me. I hate attention. I'm beginning to hate this play. I think I've seen it already.

I pray for rest that sleep might bring

An usher, or at least that's who I presumed he is, walks down the aisle, offering me a bottle of bad wine and an empty glass. At that point, the faceless baron is still staring. Slow techno music starts to play in the background. The violin exists no more. I poured in some wine, and life got a little better. I double checked my drink to see if it's real. I got up. I moved to the music.

I close my eyes and dream away

The smoke faded out and things got a bit clearer. I take another sip and look up at the actor supposedly still staring. His face starts to make sense. A face I've seen in a thousand mirrors before. Is this what I've become? Another puppet in a never ending play who's destined to keep dancing, waiting for the story to start making sense. Such is life; a play really. We're all puppets performing on stage, dancing, each their own role. I wish I could choose my act. I wish I could play the role of that wooden tree that stands still through out the plot, without which the set wouldn't be complete. Without which, however, please would still leave the theater with a big ass smile on their faces.

Of every single wish I've made

More actors come out of no where, all dancing. All moving to the dance music. They all revolve and slide around the lead character bearing my face who still stands still staring, judging.

Guilty is the way I've been

Suddenly, I am him. I became the puppet and I feel the strings attached to my limbs. They're not strings anymore now, they're chains. I can see the other dancers around me. I can smell them, taste them, loathe them for all I care. 'Leave me alone', I screamed, but at that point I'm not really addressing the dancers, or the naked man, bearing my face, now judging, sitting in my seat. The best seat in the house. I am screaming out to the man playing with those strings. These chains, tied around me, tight around my chest, holding my breath. Every ten minutes the chains loosen up, allowing me enough time to take another breath of air and start dancing again on stage, like the fool I've always been.

I am my crime and I am my only sin

Laughter arises out of no where in the background again. I can see no laughing faces, but I can hear them like they're sitting inside my head. What a clown, I've become! My five year old kid's favorite.

I close my eyes and dream of day

At this point, the other dancers are also standing there still. Staring, judging… the only immortal emotion that stays behind after a person dies. That grudge. I am the only dancer now and everybody else is staring and laughing. I feel their eyes all over me. Starting from that naked man sitting there to the very last dancer now sitting in the rocking chair at the corner of the stage, now holding a violin. Their sweet taste, their elegant smell, their good looks, and their well spoken bullshit drive me into the deep cold well of paranoia.

My night's too long with light far away

I waited and I danced. They say that time heals all wounds, but no matter how long I waited, how fast I ran, time could never catch up with the wounds I've had. The wounds of a boy who has never been to war, never lost a parent. The wounds of a boy who just got caught up in the middle of social hypocrisy and sat alone in the corner, waiting for someone to take his hand and help him cross the road to the other side of the road. Where everything is clear. Where life is supposed to be fair. Where life makes sense. Or so he's been told.

The stars might shine, the sun might rise

Now I'm naked, and the man sitting in the audience, once naked, is wearing my clothes. Now they all can see my sins. "The guilt I feel", by the naked man on stage. Even though the only sin that I recall was lying about going to class or stealing twenty bucks out of my father's wallet. I still feel guilty for more. People only notice when things go wrong. They only see sins and wait in full anticipation for the sad, sad confessions. The "rightfulness" that people tend to ignore, on the other hand, is merely a direction towards the Utopia everyone read about in fairy tales and novels written by the psychologically confused in an attempt to escape the truth about the human race, and when they're done reading the book, you put it back on the shelf and go on with they're worthless lives.

But soon night comes with its restless sighs

It's not darkness that I see anymore. It's the red background where you can see your nerves on your well shut eyelids, right before you wake up with your muscles still asleep. I still am dreaming though, or at least I'm hoping that's all this is. Another dream. Another nightmare. Suddenly there appears to be a grenade on stage. I crawl towards it exhaling every bit of breath I still have in me. "I WANT OUT. LEAVE ME ALONE.", I yelled. I grab it, the way a baby holds tight to his mother. The man in my seat gets up with fear in his eyes, points at me and screams. I look at him, smile, and pull the pin.

I close my eyes and hope to die

Suddenly I'm inside that tunnel again. That dark, cold tunnel. I can hear bells tolling in the background. They're tolling for me, I presume. I run towards the light. I want out. I want to be pinched out of this delusion. I ran and I ran with no hope left to push me forwards. If I stop I'll fall. Darkness follows me, trying to engulf me into its whole. My muscles are aching, bleeding. I can't wake up and I can't run anymore. I stop. I fall. I am. I was.

As I watch my life long dreams go by

It’s over.
I wake up to find myself in bed, sweating. I'm drowning in my own sweat. Choking. I wake up to the reality I survive. I'll go back to my old self, my old life, my old job, and my old friends. I will go back to those things I fear and to that guilt I bear. The guilt that doesn't seem to stay behind on the stage that I'm paid to perform on every night. Paid with my own breath.

I will miss that stage until the time I'm destined to fall into the sleep I strive to avoid. O Coffee, where art thou?

"Two roads diverged in the woods, and I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference." - Robert Frost, 1916

Posted by Яαgιи Яαvєи on Saturday, May 27, 2006 at 5/27/2006 07:31:00 PM | Permalink