Lost
The bitter sting of tobacco poisoned my mouth. I’m nauseated
when I sluggishly stretch my torso and emerge from the layers of
bed sheets and peer out the tarnished window. The careless rain
has soaked every crooked building, scrubbed the dirty asphalt and
now is pouring down the broken gutters. Its guilty claws scratched
every wall and its fingerprints are all over this town. The sewers are
puking in disgust.
In the past midnight street, the traffic light is the ruthless tyrant
with its constant altering temper. First it viciously splutters red on the
puddle of rainwater like the spilled blood of a lonely victim. Then its
mood swings to a jolly green as if no crime was committed just a few
seconds ago. Yet its short lived mania is bound to soon turn into dull
amber. The capricious rain, this mindless accessory to the crime of
night splashes the tantalizing colors of neon signs on the wet
pavement in concert with the perpetrator to portrait a somber
emptiness. The lackluster mélange of conflicting lights is etched in
the fiber of the soaking cardboards sheltering a vagabond from the
frigid autumn in a hidden corner of the dilapidated street.
My room is inundated with a haze of confusion, the air is musty
and light scarce. Breathing damages my lungs and mere thinking
does the same to my mind. My thoughts are stale, my words blank
and my heart aching by a growing void. I finally manage to stand on
my exhausted feet to leave the rotten comfort of my room and to
roam the streets on a whim.
The cold gust scuffs my skin as I approach the homeless coiled
under the soaking cardboards with his right shoe knocked off his
pale feet in a distance. Cautiously I take a few steps closer to the
squiggle on the sidewalk and stand by him overwhelmed by a bizarre
sentiment. Then I suddenly realize I know this man very well. I know
this corpse by heart. And if I carefully examine the subject, I can
definitely detect his interrupted pulse, caress his frozen love and
perhaps register his long lost memories. His ominous soul
permeates my entire being just to disseminate his solemn words
through the dark streets of this town. As compelled as I am to
confront my decaying cadaver lying on the sidewalk, I lack the
courage to do so. My diligent attempt to break away from his morbid
stranglehold on my thoughts only furthers the urgency of
transcribing his melancholic words.
The collapsed drifter on the pavement lived every moment of
my past and I’m destined to live every one of his future. There is no
exit in sight from this quandary, only an end. With every breath I
take, I’m drawn anew by an impulsive stroke of a whimsical brush on
the precarious canvas of life. My dark impression is rendered lifeless
before me yet I’m manically intoxicated by a mystic aroma that
levitates me from mundane anxiety ordained to sketch a vivacious
horizon against all odds. Like an entranced dervish I whirl
uninhibitedly on the pristine tapestry of distorted lights and drift
away from the fallen man on the street engraved in oblivion. My
calling is tainted, my roar stifled yet I’m sentenced to write only the
dark shades of the night in desperate hope that sun shines
tomorrow.
The bitter sting of tobacco poisoned my mouth. I’m nauseated
when I sluggishly stretch my torso and emerge from the layers of
bed sheets and peer out the tarnished window. The careless rain
has soaked every crooked building, scrubbed the dirty asphalt and
now is pouring down the broken gutters. Its guilty claws scratched
every wall and its fingerprints are all over this town. The sewers are
puking in disgust.
In the past midnight street, the traffic light is the ruthless tyrant
with its constant altering temper. First it viciously splutters red on the
puddle of rainwater like the spilled blood of a lonely victim. Then its
mood swings to a jolly green as if no crime was committed just a few
seconds ago. Yet its short lived mania is bound to soon turn into dull
amber. The capricious rain, this mindless accessory to the crime of
night splashes the tantalizing colors of neon signs on the wet
pavement in concert with the perpetrator to portrait a somber
emptiness. The lackluster mélange of conflicting lights is etched in
the fiber of the soaking cardboards sheltering a vagabond from the
frigid autumn in a hidden corner of the dilapidated street.
My room is inundated with a haze of confusion, the air is musty
and light scarce. Breathing damages my lungs and mere thinking
does the same to my mind. My thoughts are stale, my words blank
and my heart aching by a growing void. I finally manage to stand on
my exhausted feet to leave the rotten comfort of my room and to
roam the streets on a whim.
The cold gust scuffs my skin as I approach the homeless coiled
under the soaking cardboards with his right shoe knocked off his
pale feet in a distance. Cautiously I take a few steps closer to the
squiggle on the sidewalk and stand by him overwhelmed by a bizarre
sentiment. Then I suddenly realize I know this man very well. I know
this corpse by heart. And if I carefully examine the subject, I can
definitely detect his interrupted pulse, caress his frozen love and
perhaps register his long lost memories. His ominous soul
permeates my entire being just to disseminate his solemn words
through the dark streets of this town. As compelled as I am to
confront my decaying cadaver lying on the sidewalk, I lack the
courage to do so. My diligent attempt to break away from his morbid
stranglehold on my thoughts only furthers the urgency of
transcribing his melancholic words.
The collapsed drifter on the pavement lived every moment of
my past and I’m destined to live every one of his future. There is no
exit in sight from this quandary, only an end. With every breath I
take, I’m drawn anew by an impulsive stroke of a whimsical brush on
the precarious canvas of life. My dark impression is rendered lifeless
before me yet I’m manically intoxicated by a mystic aroma that
levitates me from mundane anxiety ordained to sketch a vivacious
horizon against all odds. Like an entranced dervish I whirl
uninhibitedly on the pristine tapestry of distorted lights and drift
away from the fallen man on the street engraved in oblivion. My
calling is tainted, my roar stifled yet I’m sentenced to write only the
dark shades of the night in desperate hope that sun shines
tomorrow.
