And my cursor blinks prompting me to write.
And it flashes on this brightly lit screen, and my drug induced euphoria makes my eyes roll back in my head.
And the man on the other side of the telephone waits.
And so I write about my – charged dreams of the odd Cuban woman and a Russian man, and so I wait.
And I stare in the mirror and my skin is dead and my eyes are dead and my days are dead.
And they pass with no meaning and with excruciating heat and redundancy.
And I reminisce on my better days, had I know those days were the best I would have stopped more often.
I am glad I stopped at all.
And I froze those moments and now I look back and reminisce, in front of my blinking cursor.
And my hair falls out from chemical enhancements to make me beautiful, but my skin is dead and my essence will follow shortly.
Must I be so bitter and so jealous?
Better days will come, like the drawing of an arrow I will shoot forward.
The destination is irrelevant as my perfect pair will always be there.
And the colors will be beautiful and so will the breeze.
In its picturesque perfection I will be and I will make sure to freeze.
In the months that will follow I will start at my cursor and it will prompt me to write.
Prompt me to share my adventure from an Asian land.
Possibly a Caucasian land, we have yet to depart.
The mate of your soul has the same bad habits as you do, and you indulge together which makes it all the more blissful.
My oh my, I sit in my loneliness amongst boxes of my childhood in my drug induced euphoria and I escape for an hour or so.
And still the cursor blinks.