the pessimist's addendum

Its funny how everything is laid out for you in plain perspective, but you never seem to want to acknowledge or ever take anything into consideration. Because all you believe, all you think is what you already know. It's like starring out a car window, beside an empty passenger seat, as a light drizzle sprinkles the asphalt, the distinct scent of ether fills your black, black lungs, nothing else matters but right there and then, why should anything else matter? And then like a train that had always been there, always coming straight for you.. Alarm horns racing but ignored.. It suddenly hits you, this is your life, this is all real, this is now.. This is forever. Well not forever, in the sense that certain things are eternal, because nothing ever really is. We're all destined for failure now and then. And like that slippery floor you always try to avoid at the mall, you sprint, you run as fast as your weary legs can carry you, across a floor of uncertainty. Because all you really want is to get across, get across safe and sound, to where you were two steps before you took two steps forward. And you curse and swear and write little notes on your arms, because of your inability to move forward. And while everyone else around you walks by, neither falling nor slipping, you can't help but feel that you've been victimized by everything and everyone you've ever known. A bipolar life is what you lead, and nothing in between will ever suffice. It's all or nothing at all, and more often than not, you end up with the latter. And you take those first dreaded steps, and you stick by your decision, knowing the outcome can be anything but what you imagined, what you prayed for.. But its okay, the status quo remains unyielding to your rants, your screams, your tears, your pleas, your plans, your desires.. So you retire. Pick up a coin, choose a side, and flip it, because that's all the certainty you'll ever get in your life. But that's life, treachery and dismay, but everything moves forward. Life like time stops for no man. And like that train that hit you, you get up, surprised that you didn't perish from what was certain death. But bruises and broken bones plague your once perfect body, decorating it with scars like stars. And like most wounds, they heal, leaving only a memory, but the road to recovery is long, too long sometimes, few make it in fact. But not you, you push, you push, and then you push harder, knowing that, nothing stops for no one, and no one stops for nothing. Not even a tear filled eye and a face of utter let down. No one will ever be there permanently, nothing, is permanent. At most, things just amount up to be a really long temporary. You might find similar ideals in a similar heart, but hearts see through deceit and hearts know forgiveness, and hearts lie, and hearts break, and hearts cry.. and you've hung on long enough to know that nothing ever is permanent, because permanent is just another word we use to gain our sense of security, that this is how things will be forever, because for a moment everything's perfect, but perfect moments last only seconds, minutes, at the most hours. And once the drama dies down, once the distinct touch of fingernails that graze oh so gently down the side of your naked back is forgotten, permanent seizes to exist. Because no one loves what they cant feel. Because everyone needs here and now. And everything that once was, is exactly what it is, just another 'was'. And rather than let you down gently like a sick head to a pillow, you're thrown in, left alone and cold, defenseless and vulnerable. But nobody really see's this, do they? Only you know what goes on. What goes on in that bipolar heaven of a mind you call your sub-conscience. And all you want to do is crawl into the cracks on the wall in between framed pictures of what once was. So you feel at home, so you feel what you knew better than anything at all. But that just isn't going to work this time is it. You've played that card one too many times, and the reaper's here to collect. Because when it comes down to it.. Nobody really cares that you're on the floor, at least they aren't.. at least they're still standing, straight and proud. But life goes on.. and people move on and past you. And for that someone, every now and then, who picks you up, hold on tight. But for those less fortunate, you better start swimming.. or you'll sink and be forgot, lost forever.. reach for those few crucial gasps of air because what once was your oxygen now fills your lungs with thick choking smog.. because at the end of it all, only you know.. Only you know.