No One is Home

I hear only silence as I stare bluntly at my reflection in the glass that has somehow crept its way before my eyes. Three years ago when I saw this exact image, I had the strength that enabled me to tell myself that I was beautiful. Three years ago I could still wake up in the morning without wondering why. Thought now all I see is one lie after another. Only half of my face is visible. The remainder is hidden by my hair. Nobody ever thinks to even fathom what may be behind the hair plastered to my face.

Sometimes I prefer it this way.

Sometimes I don't. Like now.

Now is the time for decision making. The new year has come - no more than ten minutes ago - and nothing could be more correctly intact. No one is home; not that I would notice, this house is so big. Nobody would be visiting me for a good day, what with the appearances and autographing that were planned before an illness struck upon my weak esophagus. No more than a cold, but an easy excuse not to pick up the phone or answer the door.

The world is too busy for me. I'd give it a week before anyone even realized I was dead.

My thoughts have wondered, I realize this only now, as I have subconsciously made my way over to a chair; I am seated lazily with my fingers drumming against the orange wood of a table bought in Brazil. I stare hard at the patterns set so naturally inside of it. The memories of our gig in Brazil swarm inside of my thoughts, the specific details of the faces that I could see in the audience, every single note that was played on my guitar - it was all there.

So I scream. I scream louder than I have before in my life. Though I am only 21.

I was so excited when I turned 21. It was only a little under 2 months ago, though I've already forgotten the happiness of the day. I can't even remember why I was so happy, the sole reason being because I could now wear whatever I wanted on stage, I could make more decisions for the band, and most importantly - drink. I had the idea put into my head that I could "drink my problems away". They were wrong.

Just like they have been in helping me make any other decision in my life.

But who are they? I don't even know, myself. They could be the ones who persuaded me to be part of a big bad-ass band at all - my "friends". They could also be those who paid for the big bad-ass band to 'happen'.

"You have a fire" is what they would say to me. They could make me believe anything. It is only now that I realize that there is no life behind my dark eyes. It is only now that I realize that all can not be solved with pen, paper and guitar.

It is only now that I realize the only way to exit the world is to rid my mind of my music.

"I've found the answer!" I scream aloud, with a response of drawn-out echoes thundering through the many halls of an empty house.

I stand. The hard floor is cold on my feet. It goes undetected.

I walk. The floorboards creak beneath my small amount of weight. It goes unheard.

I turn on music. My own voice enters my bloodstream, flows to my heart. It goes unconsidered.

I walk. The floorboards creak beneath my small amount of weight. It goes unheard.

I am there. The light blinds me for a brief moment. It goes unperceived.

I open the cabinet. My reflection could be so easily viewed in the mirror. It goes unseen.

I swallow. The room is spinning. It goes unnoticed.

I fall. The clock strikes 1. I go under.