they say these are the best years of my life
but i all i can feel are my arms melting off
and the rest of me growing runny
they drip off and form putrid puddles flanking me
puddles of lost oppurtunities,
the ambitions, the great realization, the loss.
theyre maturer puddles now,
they know what they have to do now;
at least they think so.
some asshole drove by while i pondered this,
and splashed me with my own motivation
ick.
this obviously shattered my reverie,
so armless, i walked down the street
Monday, January 9, 2012
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
01930
There might have been blood on the pavement, and crimson was definitely present on their Timberlands. Something gone horribly wrong.
The sky bellowed, and released her emotion. Her long-kept tears. They plopped onto the Jeep's windshield heavily before being flung away by wipers that were stilled when we parked. He lowered the radio to whisper level and opened his window to hear the words of the kid. The newcomer. The Gloucester kid.
The kid leaned into the window and conversed with my driver. I noted the kid's plain face, accompanied by those nondescript eyes. The neatly shaven head. He asked us to follow him, he told us he had to show us something. We considered this briefly and followed him a scant few feet out of the car towards the center of the park. Open space seemed to flow violently all around me; the damp green and scattered playground constructs stood out in stark contrast. Everything seemed very bright.
Three youths lazed somewhere at the opposite end. They wore big sweatshirts with big tan Timberlands. Out of my peripheral vision I saw their heads snap towards us.
Quickly, revelation.
They burst out of the surrounding greenery, moving at a dead sprint towards us. I knew what this was, but hadn't a clue of what it was. The trio at the far end suddenly was not where they just were, but instead much closer. My companion was nowhere to be seen; most of them altered trajectory towards him. Four or five of them stopped their sprint just before me, and I kept my hands at my side. One of them opened his mouth but I'm not sure I heard anything.
The blow was quick. He struck the side of my face, producing an instant flash of light that I was able to squint through immediately after. Allowing me to note the other four of them who rushed forward and latched onto me.
The next few moments were crucial, yet partially lost to my own memory. I latched onto the abdomen of one of them while the others attempted to pull me down. We swung through the open expanse of green in this manner; a faulty ballroom dance. The image of a hand grasping an extended police baton repeatedly flashes before my mind still to this day- it is in fact the brightest memory I recognize at that park. Eventually I could dance no longer and they had brought me down.
They stomped on me. I have no recollection of individual blows but the damage was quite clear after the fact. I took my only option; huddled into a tight ball and waited, and waited. I found the strength to get up on my feet and stagger-run towards the street until a man in his car pulled up and began yelling. I never did look behind me at that point- but I do remember thanking the man, and walking down the street.
The sky bellowed, and released her emotion. Her long-kept tears. They plopped onto the Jeep's windshield heavily before being flung away by wipers that were stilled when we parked. He lowered the radio to whisper level and opened his window to hear the words of the kid. The newcomer. The Gloucester kid.
The kid leaned into the window and conversed with my driver. I noted the kid's plain face, accompanied by those nondescript eyes. The neatly shaven head. He asked us to follow him, he told us he had to show us something. We considered this briefly and followed him a scant few feet out of the car towards the center of the park. Open space seemed to flow violently all around me; the damp green and scattered playground constructs stood out in stark contrast. Everything seemed very bright.
Three youths lazed somewhere at the opposite end. They wore big sweatshirts with big tan Timberlands. Out of my peripheral vision I saw their heads snap towards us.
Quickly, revelation.
They burst out of the surrounding greenery, moving at a dead sprint towards us. I knew what this was, but hadn't a clue of what it was. The trio at the far end suddenly was not where they just were, but instead much closer. My companion was nowhere to be seen; most of them altered trajectory towards him. Four or five of them stopped their sprint just before me, and I kept my hands at my side. One of them opened his mouth but I'm not sure I heard anything.
The blow was quick. He struck the side of my face, producing an instant flash of light that I was able to squint through immediately after. Allowing me to note the other four of them who rushed forward and latched onto me.
The next few moments were crucial, yet partially lost to my own memory. I latched onto the abdomen of one of them while the others attempted to pull me down. We swung through the open expanse of green in this manner; a faulty ballroom dance. The image of a hand grasping an extended police baton repeatedly flashes before my mind still to this day- it is in fact the brightest memory I recognize at that park. Eventually I could dance no longer and they had brought me down.
They stomped on me. I have no recollection of individual blows but the damage was quite clear after the fact. I took my only option; huddled into a tight ball and waited, and waited. I found the strength to get up on my feet and stagger-run towards the street until a man in his car pulled up and began yelling. I never did look behind me at that point- but I do remember thanking the man, and walking down the street.
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