An answer to Can’t Drive 55
Last song that I heard is You, The Room, and The Devil on your Shoulder by As It Is via the Discover Weekly playlist on Spotify. The following is a total work of fiction.
I hate being high. Tried it once. Unicorns. Popsicles. Happy thoughts, hurrah! Then two minutes after, demons. Monsters. Darkness. Nothing. All on repeat. Took the whole night.
Tried it again. Same damn thing. Nope, never again.
Life must have enjoyed seeing me high. You know why? Because even if I don’t take the stuff anymore, it is like the effects always come back.
I hate it. It hurts my mind. I wish I could just sleep it off but then my dreams will be tarnished as well. It is dark and cold.
You know that feeling that you get hurt and you can’t do nothing about it? You can’t scream. You can’t cry. That is what happens when I am high. I can’t just tell people to help me get the demons away.
I don’t get high anymore but I experience the effects almost all the time.
Always her. Her. Her. Her. He talks about her. Her. Her. Her. Her.
How about me, huh? I am here. I always am. I doubt that he talks about me whenever he is with her. Her. Her. Her.
Can’t do a thing about it. All I could do is nod, smile, laugh. Basically, I can only sit down and look pretty. The thing is that I do not think that I look pretty to him.
She is my demon. She is my nightmare. Damn her. Lucky. How about me?
Him? He is my high. Two minutes of unicorns and butterflies before he starts talking about her again. Then the demons start.
Perhaps, I should stop talking to him. Maybe. Just like how I stopped being high. Then, I could say goodbye to the nightmares and to the demons. Then, she won’t bother me as much.
I tried. I tried ignoring him. Then he would ask what was wrong. How could I possibly tell him? It is like being high all over again. I can’t tell him. I don’t need help. Especially his.
It was the routine. Two minutes of heaven then hours of hell. How lucky she must be. How about me?
Ignoring him was harder than I thought. It was a worse feeling than being on high. It hurts more. Like his absence was itching into my soul, scratching a hole into it. It hurt more.
Lesser than two evils. So, I would be the great gal that listens to him. That awesome one that always supports him. I just have to let it eat me away and just smile until my smile is frozen. Then, maybe. Just maybe. It won’t hurt so bad. Or if I’m lucky, I would forget that I am hurting at all.