:: Boy In Corner ::

:: Monday, June 09, 2003 ::

Habitual Self-Inflicted Wounds

And once again I am depriving myself of sleep.
And once again, here I am, typing away, fingers flying at the keyboard,
Fighting away boredom,
Yet hooked by the endless flow of both mindless schlock as well as stimulating buttons that buzz and whirl as I play.

I write poetry, I update my website.
I eat stale pretzels and drink day-old water from my Nalgene bottle.
I play Gamecube and talk online to various people in my life,
And I watch Cinemax late night films where there are a lot of naked silicone breasts.

As I crack my neck, sitting in the chair in front of this computer,
I do it again.
Again, depriving myself of sleep.
The setting may be different, but there is no escaping my draw towards interaction,
Whether it be imaginary or real.

I yearn for the touch of others, for my mind to latch it's
Grasping tentacles to others'.
I yearn to find out what's going on in my friends' lives,
I yearn to learn more about how the world has changed since the last time I checked my email.
I yearn to enter the matrix and inject myself with the drug that will make me believe for a second
That I am who I am not.
I yearn to perform, to put on a show,
To make permanent impressions on people so that I am not lost.

I fear being forgotten.

If I could, I would etch my image, my essence,
Into the memories of everyone I've ever met.
Although my dream is undeserved,
As I've forgotten about others,
And let my memories fade,
Just as old sketches turn to dust,
So do my alkaline memories dissolve slowly with the catalyst of time.

So I'll cut myself again with the edge of 1 am,
And I'll shoot up the adrenaline of another pulse-racing game.
These self-inflicted wounds keep me sane,
Although the wear on my brain drags on once again.

I am addicted to you, and you,and you and you and you.
I'm addicted to poetry, gaming, writing, talking, watching, and listening too.
I sigh at myself. I sigh at my poem.
But I will never sigh at you, as long as I try to keep your attention.

And to really turn you off, as soon as we part,
As soon as the correspondance stops,
And the phone calls halt,
And the late night IM conversations verge from you to someone else,
I will no longer be able to put on a show for you,
As I can only perform for so many people, for so long.

But perhaps you are one of the few that have touched my life,
Enriched it so that I shall never let you fade into obscurity,
That even when the phone calls halt,
The correspondance stops,
And I see you once in that ever-so-aquamarine moon,
I will still put on a show for you.
Because if you have touched me so,
Than you are the ones I truly want to be remembered by.
You are the ones I love.

And as I sit here and contemplate these words,
These sentences displayed on this page,
I cut myself again, with the edge of 1 am,
And I am content.

:: Rick Kitagawa 1:07 AM [+] ::
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