Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Dear Drugs on a 40 day drought.

"It's been raining so long, I've been having a hard time sticking things out to the end, it's all the bugs too. This has been a rough, rough year!" he said in a panic. He could smell his own breath and the sounds of the sheets of rain reminded him and threw him into a faint state. "How can I explain to them that there is much here, and it's all empty." He sat alone speaking to himself in a void, cross legged in his mother s second floor apartment pent house suit. She was down south, working, he was high waiting for his afternoon class to start. It was midnight. He had been awake since he left for Montreal.
That was ten days ago. He left for spring break to visit his friends prescription.
"I can remember" he whispered to himself.  Then remembering seemed to hollow his vision. Trying to remember only made his mind get sucked back into the void. All of a sudden he could see the Atlas on the wall turning. The image had began to take a form, and it had depth.
"I can remember" he said to himself. Sitting on the Persian rug his mother bought for him in Saudi Arabia. He could remember the ringing of the bell and the people. He remembered the moments he had dreamed, and he realized that non of it was separate.
"I'm an outcast. I know" he said to himself, cigarettes littered the floor. "I'll rule as a  King Drug dependent" He was in a city ruled through religious monarchy. "I remember the compounds that separated me from the Arabs, we lived on a Filipino compound. It was the middle of the dessert, and one night it rained. I remember."

No comments: