World's King

This pain in my stomach won’t go away.

It’s a constant hangover from the night’s hours of pounding back drinks after drinks after drinks. I can’t seem to find something better to do with my time… that won’t kill me. I’m waiting till she shows her face around here. I want to know why I was the one worth leaving. And one day I’ll find something new to talk about that’s not her. And maybe one day I’ll do something right in my life… that won’t kill me.

The room starts to spin when I stand up. I haven’t drank in hours. The room starts to get smaller. It’s full of people that don’t and never will understand. It’s not that I’m really that different. It’s just that I’m just more aware of how different I am. Which makes me just like everyone else. And that makes me sick. And that makes me drink. And that makes me hung over… and that’s going to kill me.

Everything must and always will be done in excess. I can’t justify doing something half-assed. That would make me a true American. I can’t stand to be associated with people like that. It’s like a slap in the face from everything you are supposed to be but could never put down the bottle long enough to live. It’s like waking up one day and realizing that no matter what you do… no matter how long you bitch and put it all off… it will never get done. I got goals… I got a life to succeed in. Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness. Mother Fucker.

And the beat of the Roots… hip-hop pounds through my chest… into my heart. I wake up. I feel the beat of life kicking me… beating me. Bass. Drums. Guitar. Powerful Vocals. Wake up. I look around this small room… to these once pointless people. I see the “coffee shop chicks and white dudes.” I see them move to this beat they think they hear… Oh they hear it. They just can’t and won’t understand. I can’t understand it either. I try to and push myself to see. I stay awake at night letting that music run me over. I listen to every instrument picking out the different sounds and tones. I don’t get it.

I meet random people on the street, in bars, in the men’s room. These people doing the same thing I’m doing and thinking the same way I think. I can’t connect with these people. I don’t have anything in common with the masses of the lost… sheep. Fallowing the trend of lazy. Being beside myself with sarcasm and anger. I get swept away in my own imagination with little else to do but cry. Yeah, I fucking cry. Who knew that someone so beautiful didn’t know he could feel. Or show the world he could feel. This world… the world he controls and destroys. You understand yet? It’s all in front of him… looking him in his little face. Kicked from years of shit and tears… I don’t want to show my true self. It scares me to think that one-day who I thought I was is not me… The “me” that was just a fleeting opportunity. It’s called growth. A loss of innocence.

And I don’t want to grow old and forget whom I was in the prime of my life… drunk and depressed. Filled to the top of my baldhead with sadness and the beauty of what life should have been. And so what, I put words on paper in a somewhat understandable fashion and I never really know what I’m saying which I guess gives me a different style. I don’t have style… I have no way to get out emotion unless I drown it in coffee, beer and a glowing laptop. I’m stuck in my own head 24 hours a day with everyone else that lives here. And the funny thing is they all belong here. I just moved in without warning and took over and tried to change years and years and years of tradition and faith. I don’t have faith… it’s lost with every morning I wake up alive.

So, now I sit in my room in silence waiting for the sun to come up so I can go to sleep. Still reveling in my pain that I’ve collected over the years. All the scars from the knives and weeklong hospital stay that left me without a piece of my lung. I still smoke. I will always smoke. It’s one of the few things in this life of mine that makes me feel somewhat normal and grounded. It hurts when I breathe and run… and move. I’m hungry and my stomach still hurts and I need food to quiet it’s rumbling. But I don’t wanna get up. I don’t wanna settle myself into slumber just so I can get up tomorrow to the unsettling sunset and have to do all this shit over again. Maybe if I stay up and never sleep this day will never end and my life will get no worse. And maybe I can get through it all without a tear shed or a beer drank. I doubt it. Cause she never showed her face. And she will never explain why I was the one worth leaving.

And I will never have anything else to talk about besides her.

__________________
heavy is the head that wears the crown

MacGnG

---good line---
It’s just that I’m just more aware of how different I am. Which makes me just like everyone else.
------

i wish for you to have something else to talk about besides her

WhoaitsZ

yes, yes, yes!

raw beuty.. no censored bullshit.

don't you loathe fucks who cme into our world and try to make it all look ssssimple?

g r e a t work

World's King

Thanks... it's all about truth.

__________________
heavy is the head that wears the crown