Looking for Rabbit-holes

In my times of despair, and despair, i tell you is not a state of mind. It is a cold, dark, empty room where nothing belongs to me. Not even myself. Not even my diseased body. Not the protestations of my clogged up lungs.
Me, my body, my mind, my ragged breath are all splayed around. Part of the trash. Trash which is all around me. Chewed pen caps and cigarette butt children run all around proclaiming, ‘one of us. one of us!’ They are in your hair and on your tongue. I spit out little tumorous mutants when i speak.
And, in the nights when i am stoned; when i don’t want to listen to any more music. I have already gone out for the 30 minutes walk four times. Take out the trash, but where?
It is 2 a.m., I think about it, but i don’t get up and masturbate.
I just lie there in the dark and listen to the defunct tap in the kitchen go drip, drip drip. And i drip. A cigarette burns in the dark. and another. Drip, drip, drip. Sound of life slowly ebbing away, in warm stale smoke. I wait for the cold light of mornings to come to my rescue.
In these times of despair, you often cross my mind. Infact, you are always there, near the small of my back. You climb steadily, your small feet leaving goosebumps in their wake. You reach the summit, your face appears, you grin of victory, you sparkle of hope.
In my prison of modern gadgets and clean food and endless clutter of existence, i hope for you. I hope of you. Only you. Pleading, praying, believing.
Every concrete thing, the surface i sleep on, the utensils i eat from, the mouths i share kisses with , are mere ghosts in my firm belief that you are somehow tangible.
I survive in the belief that, somewhere there is life, and you are there too. Night after night. On each of the empty, lonely stairs i tread.
And, i keep falling clumsily, deliberately, hurting myself. I am sure there is rabbit hole around here, somewhere.


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