The end is the beginning.

It's reality, my own, I have altered.

My cup is overflowing.

I endured the pain and pushed myself through it. It's better now. The ghosts are gone.

I am a husband now. I am a father now. I am an adult now. I tell people what to do.

Moving forward towards the future, uncertainty is a thrill. 

Gave up on being nothing. I am a blank slate. Anything could happen. 

My legacy, concrete. My words, I've given up. I know love now, indescribably raw and sensitive. It's itchy, beautiful and real. The only way to know it, is to live it.

I never imagined feeling so complete. I never imagined how much I wanted this. I never knew that I could be the person I am right now. 

It's not perfect. It's not. But it's extremely close. 

I never fathomed meeting a genetic relative of myself, but I have now and he is amazing. 

Little boy, he's getting bigger. He's getting stronger and learning new things everyday. This is life. I am luckier than I ever dreamed.

This

I feel so alone.

All I do is make everyone's life worse.

I'm a leech.

The end is nearing, my friends.

There is no room for me here. THIS is not where I'm meant to be.

I wish I were enough for her. She needs much more than I can provide. I could die for her and that still wouldn't be enough. There's no pleasing her really, she's more messed up than me. How do you love someone who only wants to make you feel as much pain as possible? Why do I constantly do this to myself? This person doesn't love me anymore more than any of the rest of them. She just doesn't want to be alone. I don't want to be some desparate girls salvation...I'd rather be appreciated for the piece of shit I am.

I don't deserve anything but pain. I don't expect anything but suffering. She's going to break my heart. Let's see how the bitch does it this time. The bitch and the bastard...sounds romantic huh? Except...she doesn't really care and that's all I do. Such is the life of a bastard.

Then

There are ghosts in my house.

Hide

All alone, the past year.

Created a cave for myself. My own sacred space.

Hello Enid H. I saw Bill T Jones on Bill Maher tonight. tWas interesting. I miss you lady. Don't forget that real people exist, despite how painful that seems.

So. The People have arrived again. Blackie keeps most of them away. Otherwise they are completely in control. Called Oprah gay, was mistake, just really good friend.

Well--fraud has become the hollow case in which I am contained! It's quite confusing, but essentially comforting. That sick blackness that seems to great everyone really isn't so bad. It's about as cheap as reality.

Would you like to see proof? I've been authorized to give a glimpse. It's kind of beautiful, in a Las Vegas kinda way. There is no natural light, just the glow of resourcefulness. I smell cotton and petrol, something tingly and tolerable. You get happy on the goodness of brightness, the vivid colors almost assault your senses and make you wish you were dependent once again.

Then there's clean white sheets and crisp, sterile pillows. The swab of alcohol feels cold and smooth on your stupid, stretchy skin.

We miss you, Court. It's sad my time is short.

If this is it, remember this, I am full of shit.

Hesitant

It's been awhile.

But I really don't want to start something I can't finish.

I'm waiting for reality.

I hope it catches up with me.


This is the middle of the end.

Rage

My wrist muscles tighten in anticipation of the blow. I let my fist beat down upon the man, sloshing and sliding against the blood and hard surface of his face.

He looked like a mushroom, the anger, sadness falling from his face.

Slap, the sound of my bones against his, the dead hollow sound of head breaking into a false thickness of reality. Crunching the effect into powdered human.

I don't control my anger, I don't control my pain. I can subdue it, just long enough for you to get away.

Sister, my sister, you've served me no purpose. Family, my family, you've done us no good.

Hah, a sperm on all your faces, because the dirty reality is too sick to internalize. Fuck your begotten word. Your fake fancy killed anything good.

THIS is what's real. THIS will be the all-over-ending promise. Brief feelings. Half-a-second smells, sounds, so many that I drown.

You were born into simplicity, I'm a product of complication. Your reality, plain and simple. Mine, a labyrinth of confusion.