Brighton ...

Well what can be said, as I stood out in the rain, clothes wet, cold creeping in through my skin and all around some kind of TV chaos about me. It felt like some sort of post apocalyptic plague movie. People throwing up against the sides of tents, unconscious revelers being carted off on stretchers in the mud, I might of found it funny if it didn't remind me of another more dangerous time or if I'd been high.

Standing there under that tree a group of men behind us inhaling some sort of gas from a canister, the adrenaline fueled howls as the gas soaked up by blood, addled their minds and filled them with what feels like power. Surges of energy flow through veins, exploding the desire to rip the very fabric of the world under your fingers and leave it bloodied at your feet and then 30 seconds later another hit till your nothing but a twitching heap of bones and muscle slipping down that hole not sure your ever going to come out again. I remember you well, but I don't miss you anymore.

That hiss and whine in my ears, the colour of the world not brighter just hyper, less real as my mind skips and misses images, it's like a strobe in my head, maybe I'm fitting. I wish I was fitting I'd rather lie here in this mess and chaos twitch my last twitch and let that last sigh go. Slip down, down against the cold darkness and let it all go. Old me, I remember you, see you there amongst them. I know you would not feel this rain, this cold, these arms around me. Would not see the sky or trees, hear the howling and for a moment the pinch of fear as our mind considers that maybe we are to close to this potential violence. You would be wishing for it, aching for them to bend their violence upon you, that maybe this time you would not have to survive. So dark are you old me, at the edges of my mind you hover I can feel you creeping round, stalking, waiting for the door to creek just wide enough to slip your cold fingers in and take hold again. I do not miss you.

I said it out loud today, the first time the words slipped out while we were talking. I hardly noticed what was said and then, they blew back into my face with the wind and rain. Burnt my eyes, I looked away and focused out into the distance. Pretended I had not said them. I am hoping someone will prove me wrong. I am hoping someone will prove me wrong. I feel like a cheap, badly written novel character.. man trapped in woman's body fights against change, tragically dies in alleyway, shot after being robbed just moments after he realizes he is just fighting the inevitable and should go with the flow. Oh beautiful Pandora's box so rich and diverse, colourful and empty. I can't seem to think straight right now, I need some sort of empty white room, devoid of any kind of mental stimulation just so I can breathe again and let go of this tightness.