"Let's be honest on this train". The lights keep flickering, throwing you into the dark and then bringing you back into the light. The fluorescent lights are making our skin seem thick, heavy, pale, and sickly. I keep fidgeting with my iPod. I keep looking away, I don't want to talk about this anymore. I fumble with a ball of foil in my pocket, pull it out and shakily unfold it. two little white pills are gonna make me feel better. You hate this don't you? Is it because I'm not dependent on you? Because it's a display of mistrust? Yes, I don't trust you and it's nothing personal. Yes, I depend on these because they make me feel good, no, they make me feel great.
There's a loud buzz in the air that always is attached to the train itself. It forces our voices above a whisper, makes us speak loud enough for other people to hear. So, no, I don't want to talk about it here, I don't want to talk about it period.
I lean my head back, my legs are feeling good, I'm feeling good, but I am not good. I clench and unclench my fists. I clench and unclench my jaw. You keep pressing me for answers. Stupid incessant questions. Why do you even care? Just back off.
I don't mind, honestly talking, but not when you're digging for answers. Just back off....a little.
The train comes to a halt. You get up and you're slightly ticked off, you're walking fast across the platform. The painkillers are hindering my performance. I'm steps behind. I CANNOT chase you down. I WILL NOT chase you down. So, I'm leaning against this wall, watching you walk away and I'm hoping it's for forever because it's better this way. Dealing with a disillusioned mess? How can that be fun for anyone? Especially one with a penchant for pale powders and powerful drugs. You round the corner....gone. "Goodbye"
A trip to this dirty train station bathroom, it's sickening. It smells like dirty toilets and unbathed vagabonds in here. I pull the syringe from my bag, spring loaded and ready to go.
God, you feel like heaven. You remind me why I'm so numb and so damn dumb and alone. You remind me of why I just let them walk away. You remind me of...
Mind goes blank...I don't remember anything anymore except that I'm dry and I'm gonna need another fix soon. I wonder how you're doing now, all alone walking, fuming, angry, and how it's all my fault that you're alone. walking, fuming, angry. I'm sorry...I think.
I shrug my bag onto my back, making my way through the station, "I'm so fucking high!" oh my god, I feel like I could touch God, I could shake his hand and share this with him. Does God do drugs?
My chest is aching. I could die here and it'd be perfect. All around me people come and go. Going here, going there, going everywhere and anywhere. Far away from me. Take me to Terminal 7, I want to go home.
My eyes glaze over and I'm stumbling for a seat. I run my hands through my hair and grimace. I clench my teeth, I tug on my collar. I scream. Right in the middle of everyone, but no one cares, they just keep walking. "Don't look, they're just making a scene." Your face is so hollow when you say that. Fuck you, middle aged, middle american woman. You're a no one, a blip in my society, a blip in yours and you'll die that way.
I'm standing on a kicked over kiosk, I kicked it over. Is this rage drug induced or have I finally snapped. I'm screaming, I'm kicking, I'm throwing things and snarling at the gawkers."Is this what you want to see?" I throw my hands above my head and twirl them about hypnotically, dancing to music no one else can here, but me. Humming a sweet tune, my eyes are closed and I'm entraced. swirling, twirling....DEATH.
They wheeled me out, bound to the stretcher, but I wasn't making a fuss. I'm sorry sir, that I broke your kiosk. I'm sorry that I ran you off the train. I'm sorry I told you your life was worthless. I'm sorry that I took all these drugs and killed myself in a train station. I thought I had a little more class. How uncouth of me. Forgiveness at the gates? Eternal damnation. Lucifer asks me to please take a number. My love is much unrequited in the bowels of hell. Please sir, serve me another heroine cocktail.
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