He felt he had merely existed on the unraveling fringes of life’s tapestry. Part of a picture he had never asked to appear in; he had been an afterthought, only inserted to cover up a mistake. Uneasiness was an integral part of his flawed DNA. He once had wished to be a part of his environment, but had tired of waiting at his lonely mailbox for his invitation. He didn’t know now if he would attend, even if invited. Instead, choosing to spend time with two unsavory, but predictable friends; misery and self-loathing.
The days seem to blur into night, nothing to distinguish one from the other. Time has no significance, for those incapable or unwilling to look forward or look back. Only a millstone crushing and constantly grinding an already disturbed and tortured mind.
He chugged down another shot of whiskey, in hopes he would pass out soon. In some twisted realm he enjoyed the solitude of unconsciousness and the warm drool on his chin that preceded it. It was his only defense against the incessant voices that riddled his brain.
At self-loathing’s insistence he continued to hone the blade. Taking inappropriate pleasure in the sound the cold steel made as it caressing and fondled the stone; it sounded like symphony to his ears.
He briefly glanced at his wrists, as if they weren’t his own wretched flesh; unable to determine the most recent scar. Only showers compared to the thunderstorms that raged within. Disappointed that none of them had sliced deep enough to finish the job; a fate that he knew the world had wished upon him since his vile inception.
Misery huddled in the corner, a dark plague in the room; cruelly laughing at his cowardice. It would be another grueling night spent together with friends; continuing to only listen to the symphony, as he was still too afraid to actually ask the blade to dance.
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