Jake

Tattered Steel Remnants

A scratching came from outside my bedroom door again
tonight. I peaked out to see if it was maybe my cat. Nope.
It was just Emptiness again. I shook his hand and welcomed
him back. He's a regular. He comes by my little tainted
room every night and the bastard doesn't leave until I go
to bed. He follows me around flailing his tail like an
innocent puppy waiting for me to groom him. I trip over his
frail body as he stumbles around my room chasing me. He
wants me to feed him so he can grow stronger. I try not to
give in.

"I shouldn't have ever let him in." I think
silently. "Maybe if I just throw him a ball he will go
away."

It's never that easy. I end up leashing him to my computer
desk leg where I can't see him and try to ignore him. He's
good for about 2 minutes then he whines, and whines until
he finally convinces me to feed him.

"It's just a little food." I say to myself.

With his first bite he grows into a monster. He can't stop
feeding now. As soon as I let him in....

HE DOMINATES.

Once possessed there is no escape but sleep. Sleep is hours
away. I search for a drug. Every night I find myself
traveling down the narcotic highway of creativity. That is
where I spend my time whisking away the hours molesting
your strings. Tattered steel remnants crystalize my finger
tips as I bleed on your fretboard.

The drug subsides when I set you on your stand drained of
all enthusiasm. Hours have passed by now and my creative
prescription has ran out. Delusioned by your effect I leave
the creative highway with no idea of the brilliant art
created in your wake. I lay on my pillow eyes wide shut.
The dry stench of iron and steel on my callused finger tips
is beautiful. It's majestic odor keeps emptiness away for a
while. Sometimes if I am lucky I can fall asleep amongst
the dusty steel clouds of creativity circling my bed and
escape emptiness for the night. He usually beats me though.

He thrusts his wielding torso through the dense fog and
down my throat. Then the motherfucker does a ninety degree
turn thrusting himself back up only to go back down again.
He plays the same game over and over until I fall asleep.
It hurts and makes my eyes bleed blood red tears of
sensorial pain. He plays his convulsion game with me only
to give up when he thinks I am asleep. He opens my bedroom
door to leave. As he closes it I hear his whispered
promise,

"See you tomorrow night."

-----------------------
9:30am I can't sleep.

-Jake