‘Ssssh! Don’t argue,’ he whispered in a fear to be heard by one of his friends.
Live with ‘strangers’. Sleep till noon. Eat like a homeless ten year old. Get intoxicated every weekend. All weekend. Stoned, any other day. One night hookup’s scared of the mess, they might clean it up in the morning.
Yes, life is good. Life is easy. He is happy.
Wrinkles on my face grew deeper. Sleep was useless. No dream could possibly replace the horrid reality. Fake smiles, they got bigger. Yellow stain on the ceiling inhaled the leftovers from my chest.
‘This,’ like an angry dog I barked. ‘Is not life!’
Constant struggle to keep your head up. Up and away from the smell. It drips! You twitch. The fear of unknown. It’s dark. The darkness stole your sight. It’s crowded. They touch! You can’t shake it off.
Yes, life is thriving. You are dying. Ideas and dreams slowly rot away. They die on regular basis. They die for a sip of sensation. They are killed for pleasures of numb mind. They are consumed by a fear of reality. By a fear of your own voice.