Sweet William

Sometimes when I get really anxious, I think that I'm a movie character. For some reason, I suspect that this must have always been the case.

Somehow, it's better being nobody than anybody. You just get to feel out of yourself and observe everything. Makes you see clearer. Makes you think less. Makes you appreciate the tiny little drops of French wine swirling in your glass. Makes your glass of wine less fragile.

I cannot freak out anymore. The shoelaces of my glutamate receptors are untied already. What I fear the most, then, is being the bad version of myself. Like sticking a knife into a stranger's carotid. Or stealing a young woman's bag. Or suffocating a little kid, who's lost the sense of time and screams.

I now drink shots to my lost moments of sobriety. When there wasn't the fear of withdrawal. Withdrawal from this unfair game, where the good ones are those who are tortured the most. I was once told that the stronger your conscience, the more weight you carry onto your shoulders. Maturity leads to goodness, though goodness leads to an endless, vicious circle of anxiety. Like a Siren taking control of every single neuron of your brain.

Then, I feel frustrated. I watch really bad people getting away with their indecency. I watch every single detail. Every single movement of their hair seems to be perilous. I must survive when they attack me.

I'm terrified that I'll end up lurching under the vague red lights, having emptied every single bottle of whiskey inside my interminable source of anger. I have my last sip at dawn. My shirt is partly torn off by my dagger of despair.

The vacant seat stands still for some milliseconds. It's expecting my last poetic exhalation. I'm lost in the smoke. I grieve for my lost inspiration. My unexploited flashes of imagination. My unexpressed feelings all sewn into a never existent mosaic.

My sweet William's smell gets rapidly dispersed towards all directions. Its smell traverses through the walls of society's rigidness.

Then, I read an article about drug tolerance. I think about nature and nurture. How I reached the point that I beguile my own body into believing that a cure exists. And then... I just relapse.

Anger was never a typical feeling of mine. I always covered it. Until I thought of the reason of its existence. The reason of my existence. I'm here and now, registering every single detail of the moments I'm not me. Of the moments they're not them. Of the trust I didn't retrieve in life.

I just wanna understand how this river flows without wondering how I want to float on it. How not to be drowned by self-guilt and humiliation.

I'm here to write down every single moment worth mentioning. Every bad thought, memory, moment and feeling.

If you have ever felt unseen, believe me, I feel you. If you feel like time flies and you're not true to yourself anymore, I can empathize. And if you end up being a main character in my stories, don't wonder why.