Without God

I remember waking up to a gorgeous Sunday morning after one hour of sleep in three days. The mornings always come like a partial birth. The mind and body severed from one another with the heavy weight of yesterday’s mistakes still lingering in my veins. I’m acutely aware of the pain my body it endures from being in a state of constant repair and regeneration and just how insane it is for someone to go through this crap over and over day after day, week after week, year after year. And although my mind feels overwhelmed from its constant “on” button it feels refreshed by the brand-newness of the early hour.

It’s a new day another chance to reconcile with my abnormalities within this world, yet my soul aches with the residual consequences of past decisions. And then there is the constant battle with insomnia, a battle I’ve been losing all of my life, a battle that leaves me in more of a walking, sub-deviant, diluted, waking living hell for most of the day until the sun starts to set. And when I recover and begin to feel alive, the quiet of the evening jams my senses reminding me that I have only hours left to enjoy this full on alertness with the rest of civilization before I am alone once more while the rest of the city retires to a perfect state of dreaminess.

It is a vicious cycle that I can not endure without colorful soldiers escorting me through the motions. They are at my command to use waking me into action so that I can be counted as one among the living. And they are at my command to lull me to sleep when the fear of losing my mind becomes to much to bear from watching the hours slide slowly by.

And so now I begin where I left off, beyond the gin-stained smile soaked in from last nights kiss. I will start like this over and over again.



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