I Am

I’m a 100 metres running, healthy eating, puzzle solving, cartoon watching, cereal eating, bedwetting, probable Olympian. I am 5 years old.
I’m a food hogging, note learning, couch hugging, human despising, hard working, teachers’-ass-licking book worm. I am 12 years old.

I’m a bong ripping, pot smoking, cigarette puffing, Monk guzzling, blunt blazing, Marshall listening, insensitive, selfish, asshole. I am 17 years old.

I’m a LSD popping, Xanax ingesting, coke snorting, methadone blowing, Hennessey sipping, paradise searching junkie. I am 25 years old.

I’m a needle injecting, ecstasy licking, valium crushing, ambien mixing, percocet ingesting, lean drinking corpse. I was 30.

The Truth Behind Our Lies

I don’t usually do this but I feel that I’ve hit a place where I really need to vent out what I’ve had on my mind since a really long time. Why do people lie? To cover their asses? To make sure that the world doesn’t get to know what kind of a heinous monster they really are? Or is it something so fundamentally human, that no person can escape it? I’ve said my fair share of lies to people. A bit too many, actually. I’ve lost track of what I’ve said to whom. But the biggest mistake is saying that first lie. That first lie, which leads to the second, then to the third and before you know it you’re neck-deep in a pool full of lies. I just lost the person who mattered the most to me because of this habit of lying. We were supposed to complete 8 months on the 15th of July, but now, she can’t even stand the sight of me. Which is justified. She took my shit for almost 8 months, stood by me when I had no one and then some, and I fucking kept on lying to her. It’s not until you lose someone that you realize the cost of losing them. I probably just fucked up the best thing that ever fucking happened to me. I deserve it, yes. But maybe it’s better this way. Maybe, if I stay the fuck away, she’ll finally be happy. She’ll know what happiness means, and she won’t have to put up with a lying cheat to get to know that either. She’ll be happy. Even if that comes at the cost of my sanity. Because that’s all I want, really. Her happiness. Nothing else would make me happier than her happiness. But then, how am I gonna be okay? I love her, and I’m gonna change myself. But it isn’t gonna be for her. I’m gonna change for myself. I’m gonna become a better person. Maybe she’ll come back, maybe she won’t. Only time will tell. I really hope she does. This? This is gonna be my first step towards redemption. After all, it’s better to go down with a fight, right?

Homecoming

A beach. A pet wolf. A cottage. Sunlight. Warmth. The man laughed at these thoughts now. He laughed at his naivety. How could he have been so blind before? He woke up from his deep slumber and opened his eyes to the monstrosity of the light. You see, the thing about the light is that it isn’t permanent. It flickers. It goes off. Sometimes, you don’t find it for years on end. And when you do, it’s gone just as soon. But darkness. That is a constant.
The man was standing at the entrance to the maze again, which was mocking him for his foolishness.
“She tricked you, my child. The serenity was short-lived. Pain is how you have persevered and how you will till the end of your days. It’s the only way that anyone can maintain a stable mindset in this m.A.A.d city. Come back. Come back to your haven. Come back to your old self, the one that you so cherished.”
How could he have been so blind? The cold, fake, appealing nature of the light was what drew him out, not the sincerity of it. The maze was an old friend that wanted to put an end to his misery, that was all. The maze was the only constant which had truly stuck with him throughout his life.
But. He hesitated to go back to the maze.
Somehow, after all he had been through, after all the time that he had spent with the light, after all the times that he had indeed made mistakes and been ignorant enough to correct them, he didn’t want to go back to the maze. He wanted to redeem himself. He wanted one last shot at getting back that which was his. He wanted his serenity back, however fake it might have been. So he mustered his courage and tried to approach the light. But it was too late. She had given up on him. She couldn’t stand the sight of this pathetic creature. She abandoned him, and left him for naught.
Broken, of heart and in spirit, the man entered the maze without giving it a second thought. The darkness spoke to him with a kindness which he had long forgotten. It said, “Welcome home, my child. You’ve been away for far too long, chasing distant dreams. It’s time that you returned.”
Upon entering the maze, the man lost his footing and plunged into a deep abyss. He didn’t care anymore. He closed his eyes and thought about a poem he’d heard on the radio the other day, an eerie calmness spreading all over his face.

“I remembered you was conflicted,
Misusing your influence, sometimes I did the same;
Abusing my power, full of resentment.
Resentment that turned into a deep depression.
Found myself screamin’ in a hotel room,
I didn’t wanna self destruct, the evils of Lucy was all around me.
So I went runnin’ for answers.”

His lips curled into a smile. He was tired of running now. He’d come back home. And he wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

A Story From The Streets

He could hear the sirens wailing, the gunshots, the explosions, everything. He could hear the gangbangers screaming for blood, the ordinary populace crying for justice, little kids screaming for their mothers. And yet, there he lay, motionless, paralyzed, not being able to move worth a damn but sensing everything that was going on around him. He always knew that it was gonna come down to this, that the city was gonna melt down. He always knew that the people on the streets were gonna lose they minds and create riots that were gonna revolutionize the administrative and judicial system forever. He knew this because he was a part of the revolution- a soldier of the struggle. As he lay on the streets, gazing up at the sky, looking at the stars shining brighter than he had ever seen them before, he felt his pulse slow down. He knew he was nearing his end. He’d lost too much blood, but it wasn’t all for naught. The revolution had begun- the fight had been taken to the streets and the people on the streets were hungry for justice. They were fed up of the police brutality. They’d been pushed to the edge. Now, they were gonna strike back. He closed his eyes one last time amongst the noise of the glorious agitation and rewound to the moment where it all began.
He remembered being a young hustler, trying to make a living. He didn’t have no family- his parents died when he was 11 and he had no siblings. He grew up on the rough side of the grub, learning how to evade the authorities when they came looking for homeless children, stealing food to keep himself from starving to death, running from one back alley to the other, fighting to survive. When he was 15, he found some cats hanging in the back alley where he was taking refuge at one night, dope slanging. Curious, he walked up to the brothers and asked them what they was doing, because he could see that they had a huge bag full of something that smelled kinda funky and rolls on Benjamins stuffed in their pockets. Luckily for him, these cats were cool. They didn’t blow his brains out with the mac-11, they took a brother in. They taught him the rules of the streets, taught him how to hustle and make a living by slanging dope. After a solid 3 years with the gang, he was established. He had those rolls of Benjamins in his pockets and this time around, he was the one selling some of that funky stuff. The gang was family now. Everybody would put their lives on the line to save a brother’s neck. But then, he discovered the nasty side of the dope dealing business. His boy Jimmy got arrested one day on “probable cause”. They weren’t allowed to visit him in Juvie. Jimmy was sentenced to a 6 month term for finding marijuana on his person. When he got out though, the real story was revealed to us. Thing is, the police arrested Jimmy without any solid case. They planted the drugs and framed him and it was all because Jimmy was black. That’s when he realized that this type of police brutality needs to stop. The gang started mobilizing. They called in all the sets- friendly or unfriendly. The young hustler from the streets became the voice of these cats repping their sets. He was their speaker, telling the world about what goes down in the hood, giving them their side of the story. He came out as their leader, the voice on the street block. He heard about this one group who was repping the same story, but portraying it through music. Their art spread through the city like wildfire. Soon, all the sets were vibing to that record. This is where this movement turned into a revolution. This is where the beginning began.
Now, with his eyes closed and his heart full, his ears pricked up for amidst the gunshots and the ruckus, he could hear a car stereo playing some music. It was that very same song that had inspired the sets to come together in the first place. As his consciousness drowned out, the last words he heard, reaffirmed his faith in their struggle and made him crack a smile before his eyes went blank.

“Fuck Tha Police, coming straight from the underground. A young nigga got it bad ‘cause I’m brown…”

Finally finding peace.

The man was frustrated. This world was driving him insane. Seeing no way out, he decided to pay a visit to his friend. The one he would always go to, to share his thoughts and emotions with. To share his joys and sorrows with. He spoke to this friend and hoped that he would understand his problems one last time, as he always had. With a heavy and depressed sigh, he told him his problems in as brief a manner as possible. “Man, I can’t think anymore. It feels like my entire body is turning into lead. I have done nothing but work and solve other people’s problems for the past 5 months. I’m running on empty. I need to get away.” He was drained. Spiritually, emotionally, physically and mentally. The man was so taxed that nothing seemed bright anymore. Everything was monochromatic now. He couldn’t see things the way they were supposed to be. Everything was black and white to his eyes now. He couldn’t ‘see’ anymore. He needed out. He needed an escape, a plight from this world of mortal tortures and where everything was so corrupt it didn’t even make him flinch anymore. His perceptions had changed. He’d experienced everything that he could imagine. Drama, honesty, agony, laughter, bitterness, love, hate and the constant pain of being a disappointment in every aspect of life. His friend, being the last thing that the man had, finally caved in. He saw what this world had done to his friend. He couldn’t imagine anyone going through what he had. He gave it to him. For the sake of his betterment and relaxation. So that he could feel alive again. So that he could see the colors of the world gushing right back into it. He passed him the pouch. The man took the pouch and took out one piece. He placed it under his tongue and waited. He waited till his body was numb and his legs regained sensation. He saw colors. For the first time in 5 months, he saw colors. His mind was relaxed and happy now, his sorrows dissolving into happiness. He felt that bliss he was searching for. Finally, after such a long time, he was flying. He was flying towards the moon, which was painted in the colors of the rainbow. With a smile on his face and tears of joy in his eyes, he took the knife and stabbed his gut, watching his heart bleed and his brain connect to the flow of the universe one last time. He finally had the peace he was looking for. He had reached the moon. He was done with this planet. He had reached his destiny and he never planned on going back. He let out a final sigh and drifted off into a deep sleep which he never wished to wake up from. He was finally free. He had finally found peace.