awoken by regret
He couldn’t have cried if he wanted to. But it seemed appropriate enough at the moment to slap him self in the frosted face, ashamed. The sting brought a short jolt of teary-eyed remorse, and that familiar sickly sense of worthlessness. Oh, all the anti-depressants, the coffee and cigarettes, the irritable masturbation. The isolated pain of those nights stuck alone in hamburger drive thru lines; the talk-show-host his only companion. More ice cream and diet-soda. The burnt French fries gone to mush in between the seat cushions looked like regrets, regrets, regrets.
His brain felt like a dried sponge, stiff and stinky. It solitarily sat in a dribble of languid liquid. Fried neurons sent scattershot theories of philosophical sadness. The drama that he considered his life was really a series of inconclusive anti-climaxes. The weight of a heart of a life building coffins: it dragged down the soul to a static underworld filled with television re-runs and sophomoric pornography. The devil was a toothbrush, soap scum and bleached teeth. There was a post-modern mechanical lull, a grayed and moldy afterbirth.
He couldn’t have cried if he wanted to. But it seemed appropriate enough at the moment to slap him self in the frosted face, ashamed. The sting brought a short jolt of teary-eyed remorse, and that familiar sickly sense of worthlessness. Oh, all the anti-depressants, the coffee and cigarettes, the irritable masturbation. The isolated pain of those nights stuck alone in hamburger drive thru lines; the talk-show-host his only companion. More ice cream and diet-soda. The burnt French fries gone to mush in between the seat cushions looked like regrets, regrets, regrets.
His brain felt like a dried sponge, stiff and stinky. It solitarily sat in a dribble of languid liquid. Fried neurons sent scattershot theories of philosophical sadness. The drama that he considered his life was really a series of inconclusive anti-climaxes. The weight of a heart of a life building coffins: it dragged down the soul to a static underworld filled with television re-runs and sophomoric pornography. The devil was a toothbrush, soap scum and bleached teeth. There was a post-modern mechanical lull, a grayed and moldy afterbirth.
