Overdoing And Overdosing
The walls are green, the curtains blue, the ceiling’s yellow, the floor is dark red. A gum ball has been violently murdered in this room.
You are floating somewhere in this poor man’s rainbow, admiring its colourful intestines. The room keeps moving while you lay still.
Flying high, you ascended hours ago. Far from terminal, but this might just be the end. You saw straight until your deranged brain took a left turn. Now your mind is racing in circles around a mental roundabout. Imagination turned into hallucinations.
Where the hell are you? Who the hell cares? It feels heavenly. Feelings, as if you’re having those right now. You could give less than half a fuck. Merely the first letter that you’ll happily address to everyone and no one in particular. Do not return to sender.
In your head, out your mind. Lost somewhere in between. You might be, you might not be. Is it being lost when being found is of no importance to oneself whatsoever?
Whatever. The rainbow comes loose and starts painting a picture. Slowly at first, rapidly in a second. Meanwhile you are creating this abstract image colouring outside of the lines.
You are so up on downers that coming back to earth lies nowhere in the near future. If the sky is the limit, than you have been trespassing for quite some time now.
Somewhere out in space you are defying gravity. You don’t see a galaxy nor shooting stars. You are alienated from the world, tiptoeing in the Milky Way. Sipping from its liquid heavenliness every now and then.
There’s knocking on the door. You think there is. A voice that could be yours says that you need help. Renewed silence, or maybe a continuation of it.
Your face moves. You might be smiling. You have forgotten the definition of emotions.
Look how far you’ve come. Overdosing in room 666 somewhere only you know. At your place of residence, yet thousands of miles away from what was once called home. No shoulder to cry on but your own. Luckily, all your tears are dried up. Lucky you.
The nightstand contains everything that will cause this druggy loop to carry on. A moment of clarity runs through your mind. It can’t go on like this, but you can’t go on without these pills.
You pulverize another pill and roll up another bill. You fill a glass of water and press another capsule out of the blister. Fireworks are going off. The letters S.O.S. blaze on the ceiling.
You whisper for help, simultaneously hoping no-one will come to save you.
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