Running again, in a maze of my own design. Every door I open leads to more destruction that I have made for myself in my own life. I have no one to blame but myself. And I’ve said this to myself for so many times, but I always took it for granted. I always said it because it seemed like it was the best thing to say at certain points in my life. But now, as I run through this place opening doors that lead me to the same spot. How many times must I kill myself to realize that I’m never gonna die. No matter what guns are pulled on me, no matter what needles are used against me, it doesn’t even matter what demons I face, I am beginning to realize that I am the one in charge here. This is my hell and in my hell I control my own fate. Isn’t this the same thought I should have when I’m alive in the real world? Why can’t I do it on my own? And as much as I sit with Michelle and ask her for forgiveness, it will never come. She was supposed to die that night, and I was supposed to witness it. I was to see her face, her blood on the wall, I was to remember. That is my hell, remembering every night at 3:30 am the gun shot that goes off and my wild imagination seeing her face in my closet, in the mirror, in pages of the book that I read, to the these very words I write, I am doomed to remember her forever in this plain. How souls interact and interchange in times of distress, in times of tragic happenings, the souls of the distressed find different ways to heal. Some heal with forgetting, others heal by starting a new life and realizing that children are the future, and through their children they live out the lives they once wanted to live, and most parents give their children everything, but giving everything is not wanted sometimes. Giving everything will not make everything peaceful and lovely. There are demons in this world, there are parasites that will feed on kindnesses of any kind. And I could make this hell about me asking for forgiveness for my sins, forgiveness for my wayward thinking, but all it will garner is more judgments from people who think they are God. And God knows, God knows what goes on, he knows where I step my feet, he knows where I am today and he knows what I need. I could have Michelle here with me telling me that I am no good, that I do not deserve to live, that it was me who was to get the bullet in the neck and not her. She could be here belittling me, making me feel sorry for myself, but she is not. I refuse to see her in this state anymore. I refuse to see her in pain telling me that I need to feel her pain. Doesn’t she know I already feel her pain? Doesn’t she know every night I struggle to close my eyes. Doesn’t she know that I am guilty? How many more roads must I crash into? How many more brick walls must I fall into? I’m tired and I just want to get out of this place. I need help right now more than anything. I need help from all these tired women who keep bleeding me, from all these jealous men who keep beating me. At some point there must be an equation that helps me from then on out. Isn’t there? And I keep stabbing myself and there is no blood coming out anymore. I run up the stairs and pull on the large door handle, but the door doesn’t budge. I jump down and try the next door and the next and yes there are one hundred doors and not one of them opens. I could quit at any time like I’ve been doing. I could jump off the edge of this wall and fall down centuries to my death again and again, but I will only show up in this place once again with all these labyrinths and maze-like brain traps and I’ll still have the same thoughts, thinking why, and wanting to throw myself off the wall again. But I try the next door and next door and I pull hard on the handle, so hard, it makes sweat appear on my forehead and it starts dripping against my face. Dribbling into the corners of my mouth, tasting salty and bitter but still I pull on the handle and it does not budge. Is this the way out of this place, to not give up and just keep trying. No matter how many doors I try, there must be billions, there has to be one door in all this sandbox that must open. There has to be a way out of all this mess. There has to be someone else here I can talk to. There must be someone else here who can help me? I was told somewhere in all this madness there is way out , a way back to my own heaven, be it earth or another hell, there is always someplace better. It’s that hope Dante told me of, to not give up, to keep on keeping on, to do even when it seems like it is worthless, it really is not worthless, there is someone who will hear me, there is someone who will agree with me, none of us are truly by ourselves, we are all human, we all have the same beliefs and the same needs and wants. It’s the same desires that keep us going from day to day, the same race, the imaginary race with no finish line, to keep on striving, to keep on searching, there must be a door here, and there must be a way out of this place. It’s another room with doors galore and they are metal, ice cold to my knock, but the sounds on the other side are each different. Some I can hear screams and others I can hear laughter. Still through some doors I can hear screams of desire and weal’s of laughter. As much as I don’t want to go to any of these rooms, anything has got to be better than this maze I’ve gotten myself stuck in. I try each door, but not one of them budges. I hear laughter at my failure and still try the next door, wanting those laughing people to shut up. I scream at the top of my lungs ‘shut up shut up’ and the laughter is mocking. I want to give up. Why is always so much easier to give up. I just want to stop and sit down and accept that I’m stuck in this place. I sit down on a stone and I breathe in my defeat. I look behind me and I see doors that go on for years. I look to my left and see a never ending hallway full of doors. I could sit here and think of why I’ve been put down here, or I could find a way out. This time I walk the hallway, taking my time and I pull gently on the door handle, but still the doors don’t budge. Walking further down the hallway, I begin to look at each door and see that they look the same, but they are not similar. They each have a difference between them, be it an inch or a shade of gray of tint of black, not one door is exactly like the other. It is like a terracotta museum of doors that all lead to different eras, to different times of my life or someone else’s life. How I know I this, it’s just common knowledge when you get down here. I find a knife, a sharp knife and I see how the blade glistens in the darkness. Is this another way out or is this a test. I’m tired of killing myself, I just want to walk through one door and I want to live. I go to this one door and instead of pulling on the handle, I knock three times on the heavy steel door. The knocks echo all over the never ending hallway, all through the maze I can hear the soft echoes reverberating against all the doors. It gets silent and I turn to leave when I hear a voice on the other side of the door. ‘Enter’ I can make out. It seems so far away so soft, but I can hear it clearly. I want to knock again, but I know I heard the voice. I want to call out again, but I know I heard the voice say enter. I pull on the handle and the door opens towards me. Finally a door opens and I enter the room expecting everything.
Posted on: Thu, 14 Nov 2013 21:03:20 +0000
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