Suburban dilettante with a splash of druggy mystique
“But”, she said, and here comes the wrecking ball, “You have no soul”
The girl with the raven’s eyes said I had no soul, but of course I have a soul – that’s where the pain lies. She laid the boot in where it hurts – right in the ego – started the downward cycle – spiralling beyond my control.
Any fool can draw blood with the carefully chosen word. Most use the scatter gun approach – just chuck them about till something sticks.
This was different – I felt she knew me – that she had seen inside of me and found me wanting. Embarrassed silence was the precursor to deep despair.
I have to report that I got very drunk!
I tried to drown my sorrows, but my sorrows float.
The flotsam of my life crowded my head with unhealthy vibrations.
My clockwork messaging service tells of rude change in the either region – either get it straight or go home to cry. I have no home, just a domicile – somewhere to lie down, when lying down is called for. Somewhere I keep my junk – in case I need my junk.
How banal – how very banal - the common place misery, the self indulgent woe. Why should I care what some stranger says – why do her words burn pathways of shame into my mind?
It was a lucky guess that’s all – she couldn’t possibly know that I had no soul.