30 June 2013

The Man With No Soul


She said she liked the cut of my cliché; 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 eyes said I have 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 and 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. An 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 told of rude change in the either region – either get it straight or go home to sulk. 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 did 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.


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