Untitled as of yet

Take a step, take a step, take a step, stop. Turning around to look over my shoulder again, I swear this is to be the final time I do so. All the time I was included in reality I believed it to be Satan's den: a hell hole for discoverers to break or 'average joes' to mope in. I was one of them, an 'average joe' until I realised, or so I thought, that I could make something more of my existance. Something more entertaining, more free, excluding the existance of rules, believeing that my life would be dominated more by my perceptions. THat I could take the world we exist in and turn it into my own. But tha light, gah, that fucking light making me twitch. Making me question myself and my very being when before I was so sure.

Stopping was a mistake and damn my curious nature. Standing I face sideways as if heaven and hell have rotated. The colours concocting, merging together like oil first poured into water before settling to separate on horizontal pathways and now I look, at midway point. To my left, to my right, to my left and again my right.

Quivering and eyes ticking, gah! No what are you doing? my pulsating nerves and muscles alike, my nails I shake and tear them away continuing to nash to observe what is left, ignoring cold sweat beads. A nervous twitch takes me and uncontrollably to my left I roar the pain and fear engulfing my pathways. All that careful planning to the sound of screeching nails on my blackboard. Tap, tap, tappidy tap tap. Beating a drum rhythm on my bones to calm the notion and for a moment... my reflection in the calm before me appears. MY heart slows down for a moment in this calm. I feel almost human.

"Look at you" I snarl. My hair is floppy, in desparate need of a haircut and drenched in sweat, "but I showered before I embarked on my journey". I cower, as if I were five again, talking to my mother again. Before me, my stubble re-grows becoming the beard of a convict and I whisper, tears joining sweat in the downhill race, " but I shaved this morning". These bodily protests against my will bring me to touch my reflection but my hand reaches where the mirror should be and my finger tips, I whisper, "they feel nothing". "disgrace!" I yell. "Disgrace to the fucking mother of freedom you created from your own blood"

Sharply I turn, onehundredandeighty degrees, remaing torn between horizontal heaven and hell, and tearing more. Escape my reflecion I now realise I can't. THe darkened dull wall that reminds me of the sewerage systems of London, sootened black reflects my reflection. Looking away I realise that now matter where I lok it's there, staring back at me. In a frenzy of flailing arms and screams I fall to the floor, tears and sobbing flooding at my feet and I shut my eyes to escape this mess. In a moment of peace my muscles melt and a warmth trickles downmy leg, a comfort I wouldn't normally find from my penis englufs me before the cackles commence, ringing down the tunnel. At first it's one, then two and I lose count at how many people are laughing at me as they echo through the tunnel. Once again my reflection appears, behind my eye-lids.

Now I looke worse, sunken eye and cheeks hollow with hatrid but finally, I come to some sanity and realise this can't be my reflection because I am sobbing, it is laughing, "rather like reality and the better world I created". Cradling my body and rocking for comfort, backwards, forwards, backwards before forwards to keep my balance. "That's where I'm going. You never liked journeys did you? It's almost over, you're halfway there" but still I am laughing in my face.

Stroking my head the way my mother does to coax myself to finish my journey I shiver, "Are you hot baby boy?" I hear her whisper from my voice, my ex-girlfriend.
"No, I'm frozen!" but my hands are soaked in sweat from my hair. I stand up and stop stroking my head bringing my hands in front of me for safe keping and I hear the clock start ticking. My hands glisten and from the light of reality I realise they're red, bright red, dripping red. "They're fucking blood red" screaming I begin rocking in a frenzy receeding to my cradled position before realising and changing my mind midway and force my legs to take my weight.

I turn around keeping my eyes open. Ninety degrees I slowly turn as to not become dizzy amongst the revolving of the tunnel and inhale, inhale, splutter, exhaling, coughing, I spit and stand in it taking one step, two sep, stop. Fists clenched at the ends of straight arms I laugh, and this time it is me laughing; my reflection has faded into the blood on my hands. I laugh and I laugh and laugh so hard without moving my body, just my head is tilted back, howling with laughter. At the top of my voice, "I..." unable to complete my sentence for laughter I try to stop, breathing deeply. "I AM...I AM ON MY WAY TO COMPLETE FUCKING FREEDOM FROM YOUR CONSTRAINTS!" Laughing, I lower my voice to a whisper so not to embarrass myself in case someone has snuck up on me and overhears, "You're standing in your own spit that you spat few seconds ago. I suggest you just walk on. That way, no-one will notice." Take a step, take a step, take a step, breathe.


- to be continued, tired of typing! -