the eighties

Has it been six months already since I said good-bye, not without compuction mind you, to what in essence was my life? I chucked it all away; there, done with! Ah, sweet liberty upon my lips.

Alack, then disaster: fear infested like some divinely sent plague and I began to fester. I cringed; no end in sight. Oh fuck, what have I done?

Everything seems so forced upon now. Pressing tightly from all directions upon me and I am unable to breathe. Already two weeks have gone by — time surely does consume itself rather unmercifully and along with it, us too.

Are we too to turn to clay, to dust? Surely ….

Another day is to conclude and be forgotten for it has been unremarkable. I would laugh — everything is so utterly beneath contempt — alas I do not. What’s wrong with me? I hate this feeling.

I am stuck for words.

Every other relationship is strained if not forced. Could it be that almost everything is now pointless? So it seems; I don’t know.