a bad habit
I have fallen into a routine of banality and thus, lost a sense of myself. Everyday is a mindnumbing series of non-encounters. Nothing happens. Slowly but surely, I have fallen into a rut, out which there seems to be no escape, not yet at least. A routine is a bad habit. Easy to acquire and oblivious to the one caught in it. Until, one day, while walking down the road, you realise what a sham your life has become, or the corallary with the bad habit would be, you find yourself injecting a needle into your penis looking for an untapped vein and you realise what an addict you’ve become. It’s like a neverending spiral, that goes on and on and on and you’re hypnotized by the swirling, not comprehending the fact that the swirls are just one pattern, repeated over and over and over.
This routine drags you down, in a pall that enshrouds your entire existence. It is a dark curtain falling over you, a heavy black piece of cloth that suffocates and smothers. And you feel an aching loneliness, a desire so naked that it scares you. To break out, to rip off that curtain and embrace the light of the world again, feel the heat on your face, the light in your eyes. But you don’t, because you have grown accustomed to the darkness. You have forgotten what lies outside that darkness, there might be creatures, monsters with teeth, or there might not, but you’d rather not find out. And in that cocoon of darkness, you sit and dream, of flying high in the sky, on wings of wax, towards the bright star that is the sun, and just like Icarus, you fall to your death, not into a sea of cool deep wondrous blue but on the cold hard concrete of reality. This is what I have become.