Monday, June 19, 2006

A Friend

Why do I attract weirdos? Hmm, I don't know. Not many people want to talk to them. Not many people want to give them the time of day. I don't know they aren't weird to me, just sadly messed up. They are interesting, at least they're not your average nine to fiver. Sometimes a job can be your prison cell.

He surrounds himself in darkness, and randomly plays a metal tune. Some death metal screamer influences him as he throws paint on the canvas and hope to be creatively enriched. He tells me it's strange, big pasty eyes and a blurry backdrop for insanity. His paintings say who he is, though he doesn't need paintings to say who he is.

A travel agents is unlocked at one in the morning, or so he tells me. I'm not sure maybe he broke in, he wreaks the place, books a sun holiday and then smashes up the computer. He runs up and down the stairs well proud of himself.

The next day he's beaming. Tells me I missed the fun and that it would have been worth it even if he was caught.

He drinks to forget who he is, he drinks to be free. He tells me this, though he does more than drink.

His arms disturb me. They are covered in needle marks a heroin addict. He tells me that most of his friends died of an overdose.

He says, "At least they died on a high. That's the way everyone wants to go!"

I can't get rid of him, everyone else says goodbye and I'm stuck with him for the night. He buys another drink to send his head spinning and make his legs wobble.

He sees us having a connection and that I give him my time, I do, but sometimes I wish he would find someone else to befriend.

Sometimes I want to forget, sometimes I want to imagine doing something great, but when I look at my friend, I see myself being him and it's frightening.


J.M said...


Dre said...

Dude... I like the blog... some of the things on here are kinda