Looking for an exit
The worst to come gone up in smoke · 11/03

He lit a cigarette and watched the door closed. Doors closed right after he exited. They even closed to never to be opened again. He battled with sticking little things in rooms that expanded daily. The compartmentalization turned into an anecdote of sorts. Packing away to deal with later. Kicking things, situations, gamut of anguish into their places. Sometimes lined up as statues. Accomplishing marks tallying up the cost to his mental as overcrowding was unthinkable. There was no such thing to Nathan and he would meddle into the days believing it until the entire framework crashed.

Snagged and shortening in its circuits. Sending signals of distress gone unnoticed for the delay to cause glitches he could not fix. It was his brain. The cargo he took for granted or that took him for granted. After all he was only the casing to another man's marrow. The meat to another that he had felt nearly symbiotic with for some time now. It could have been a little over a year, less than it felt. Walking around with more than decades worth of rigidness trying it's damnest not to bend. It had. For a short while the amount of PSIs were immeasurable, only to be felt the longer he endured.

Oh did he endure. In his own way. In a turn from the rockiest of the bottoms to good and now declining right back to the bottom again, he slipped further. Drifting away. Sinking if it felt as such. The drowning awaited him with weights to the ankles. A tactic done a few times as other bodies were removed from places they were paid to be erased from. That was another thing. He knew it ate up bits of the man's humanity if there was any left. A moral compass frozen in one place when it counted, tipping where it needed to be for show.

Perhaps to believe he was capable of being better than he had initially thought but none of those darkest hours, the times his hands pushed the pieces motivated by dividends, said he was. He wasn't. He couldn't be just one or both or stranded in between. Intentions of decency were once a goal. To keep the marker of grave fuck ups not to reach karmic levels but it had already. In numerous ways. In many states. He was involuntarily the guest of honor while having a wide range view. In suffering would be his punishment. In being singled out for past transgressions, would be the eyes having no choice but to watch.

So he did. Toking away. Watching the smoke flit through the thick air. Seeing what screen set before his eyes. Being reminded of the foul-ness and toxicity filling his lung again, and what little effect it had internally. It only affected those around him. Likening to second hand smoke. His actions, presence, the reputation which often proceeds him, killed. It got those he pulled into orbit destroyed. Maimed and looking for a means to end it themselves if the suffering wasn't pleasant enough to stick around for. Suddenly the trajectory of both men's lives made sense. Why Nathan opted to push away or had been used throwing people out of his orbit. To protect them and mainly himself from ever reliving the extractions again. They were brutal and brought him to a place of torment he made a binding contract with. Written in blood, the soul added as a bonus, which seemed to be gone.

If he had one it was somewhere trying to be anointed by the appeal of the wicked. Fall in line or continue to prove it wasn't his worth. The acts don't happen for any reason other than adding weight in gold to pockets. Adding the weight of ego to the mixture as well, until its parts become inflamed ready to singe all in his path. All of those who are attracted to a brash miserable but somewhat potential for redemption type of fellow, were in for a rude awakening. It may be seen in the beginning or towards the middle. If there was ever an end, the end rounded off in ways of an oversight. A big hard lined oversight.

It was where he was now. Scuttling between snuffing out the cigarette or thinking of ways to snuff out himself. Never the first time that those thoughts crept into action and he had a blight to deal with. To handle in a way knowing the difficulties of committing to thought. Romanticizing the detachment from a whole part. Being normal. Finishing off a job that cornered him between selfishness and selflessness but the other part of that whole would not fend for it. It wasn't the erasing he was fond of as the agenda was more than to examine the conscience-driven impulsion. His idea if repentance not only would shatter himself but the others grazing around his pasture for a purpose. He wished his burdens to fall back. Stay behind those closed doors but they had the means of exiting through the porous walls.

A trick room overrides his wishes. Betraying what he believed to be a mutual understanding and honest exchange. Never would it be. Never would the controls be in his favor while impairment escaped away from just the vision. Having an upper hand that lessened the outcome of being on the right side again if there ever was one, was a riddle unsolved. By means more belligerent than given notice for, scored his direction. To continue moving forward after the clearing or remain saddled where the castaway had other plans. With a tap ashes divorced from the backward scaling cigarette. Ready to go through the processes once again when patting down for a new one.

He needed a new vice. Nothing pedestrian this time and would fashion himself to a commodity fueling another scheduled self-destruction. This was the way, the only way to start climbing back towards maximal potential. Wherever the climb took him, it was going to be furthest from the fall. Out of reach from the descend that felt without an end; he had an end until a full circle proved to be in the cards.