eastowners

Current Mood: Pissed

Things should be fucking rainbows on Sunday. Things should be light, airy, and unassuming in a way that makes old ladies cry and little children squeal with glee. Things should be considerably better than I imagine they might be.

Things should be that pale color of old nitrocellulose guitar finish, with a smell that surrounds memories of happier days that never happened.

Instead, darkness follows me like a heavy black cape waving in the water behind me. Its fabric, old and worn, draws everything in around it like a black hole. The future disappears as soon as it becomes the past.

Humanity wastes the very air all around, a drain on my ability to draw the heavy breaths required to stay under through it all; just to return to the surface and find not enough air before being lunged back into the cold, lifeless, dark abyss.

It’s all around, in everything that happens and everywhere I go. It sits on my chest, rips at my hair and laughs maniacally while eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Relief, I’m afraid, is no option. Relief’s not on the menu; and the ingredients aren’t to be had at this juncture.

Hope’s cruel joke is played on the Hammond yet again. Man… is that butter sweet.