test1

I woke up in a stainless clean and isolated room with all walls lit and dimly shining its empty light into the vacancy filled with only me and myself. Myself being a large hovering body that merely looked like me sleeping, nude. And in that room did I come to know myself. I woke up in that stainless clean and isolated room today, and so panicked I was that I fainted against the warm body that didn’t try to hold me, merely acting as a living squishy furniture so I didn’t hit my head, although that was unintentional. And so I woke up laying against the breast of myself, panting in terror of my condition, I tried to wake up from my dream but it tied me down further, wrapping my head in cotton and muted my thoughts and senses. I wandered blindly in that room trying to feel for a way out but that room had no door, no windows and no way to breathe. I woke up in a prison more lifeless than being stuck buried in an underground room 6 feet under and 6 inches tall. The walls didn’t respond to my wails, cries and hits but my body did, I was exhausted and dehydrated from the effort it took to try to live outside of this suffocating psyche. Sometimes I wake up fine, just fine, without a care for my condition or care for my naked self. Inside that room there was nothing but I was alright, I didn’t thirst or was hungry just bored. With nothing to do but stare at myself and stare at the walls I watched the popcorn ceiling move subtly. Making shapes of the filler and blocking out the illuminating light that didn’t exist. The room was lit but had no lights, I could see. My boredom and complacency in my condition built up angst and angst I bottled up and shut down as what could I do? Nothing. The walls can’t be changed, the walls can't be moved, the walls won’t let me out. They are unfeeling and don’t care that they hold me in, horrible bastard walls. Unfeeling and abusive walls that contain me and myself. Like others I can only hold things in for so long until they irk me and become outside emotions. Irritable and lashing at my surroundings. I woke up hitting my sleeping self trying to wake up. Was this me? I’m still convinced this is an infinite dream in a drug induced coma that I’ve put myself in without using any, so how could it be me. I laid there on the uncomfortable ground beneath myself, giving a brief shadow to the lights that never turn off and never flicker. I stared up at my soft skin of my back. And in that staring and staring at my back I tried to recall what I was before I woke up in the room. I remember waking up ill and going to the store with my partner to go grab some groceries with our limited and impoverished budget. We were at a run down market that hadn’t been repainted in decades older than us, lined with off brand and nearly expired rotting fruits and vegetables but we bought them. To be slightly sick is better than to starve is what I told myself to avoid responsibility to better ourselves.  We walked back to our molding house whose rent was too expensive and condition too poor to fix, I coughed and tried to make light of our situation while cooking for the both of us. We humans are strong beings physically and can front many illnesses and pain before we collapse and did we use that fact well. We accepted our constant stagnation in our decaying house surrounded by empty homes that house only the wind. I tried to recall my prayers while laying and staring at the popcorn ceilings but I can only recall the first line of our father. Mother and God would be disappointed with my religious negligence and poor decisions that led us to live in a step above squalor. We didn’t own anything that didn’t fit inside of a bag and a half and our last pet was stolen by something bigger than us. I’d like to think that my partner was beautiful but I’m sure she wasn’t real, I’ve been in this room for so long that I’ve forgotten her features. At what point will I forget our trip to the store to buy rot and alcohol too? I don’t look forward to the eventual erasure of her existence but I have no way of recording it as my memory hazes and is filled with my own irrelevant buzzing in an empty room. There is no song to play in my head, only static. I need the static to block out my own thoughts that remind me of my place and of my room. I woke up in my own room now still with only its four illuminated walls and my autistic roommate that takes up half the space in the boxed room with no mirrors. What do I look like and my stupid asshole roommate is being annoying again pestering me with his sounds that come across and do nothing but make me want to bash his stupid fucking skull in with a hammer and chisel. But I am silent I don’t make any sound  other than the sound of my feet moving and my breathing close up against my unconscious self, who is my roommate. An external version of myself reminds me of what I look like but I'm not sure if I aged since I woke up this morning in this room. Morning being whenever I wake up, I can’t see the sun. And on my back lying next to my partner I stared at the popcorn ceilings with her arm around the back of my neck and mine over her chest, perfectly still to not wake us both us from this waking motionless sleep. Mold has taken over more and more of the ceiling since we first moved in and among them the walls brother has been dusting us  with their tiny toxic children, but we can’t have any of our own, especially when I live alone with myself in a room with four walls and an empty ceiling that I stare at and make move when I am bored. Nothing has changed since I woke up this morning and nothing will change when I wake up again. Sleeping is my new pastime but it births no dreams and no recollection of fond memories, only blank blackness that I wake up in a blink of an eye. I didn't realize when I am asleep and I don’t know if I slept for 12 hours or only blinked to give my eyes something to do. I never did go outside other than to eat and work and work I did most of my days in one year and none in the next. You don’t need much to live you know. Neither did we. Contempt in our small home with our small belongings and small savings we lived. We pretended it was nice and played dress up as a normal couple doing normal things like normal people do. I don’t know what we did, we did it though. Can’t do it now because she doesn’t exist and I am stuck in my own room that is forever quiet and forever empty. I poke the body of my sleeping self and she doesn’t react. Only when I nudge the face of myself to her do I get a response. It’s not conscious, it’s something natural and only a response to stimuli, but why did I react at all? I wasn’t sure if I was dead or sleeping or in a dream or in a room with four illuminated walls that don’t breathe and a ceiling that moves if I blur my vision and let myself take in the way that it almost washes over itself in its popcorn waves. Inside my room I woke up this morning remembering that I didn’t read much when I was awake and not in the room. I enjoyed the idea of reading but when application come I fell asleep fast even when I adored the content of the book I was reading. I was certain I was cursed with literacy born narcolepsy.  I woke up this morning laying against the soft stomach of my naked self, starving and thirsty. There lay a knife and a cup of water on the far side of the tiny room. I rolled towards the water on the carpeted floor that bit me when I stepped or laid on it. I was so tired of this uncomfortable biting carpet, I wanted to wake up again in my own ground in my own sleeping bag that I lay in at home but this was no home and there was no comforting sense of solitude in me and my companion that was not myself, just static and increasing amount of cotton bandages being placed over my senses and thoughts. A little more each day. So I rolled towards the cup and drank the water, unfulfilling, only reminding me of my constant thirst that I’ve been ignoring and telling myself didn’t exist because this is all fake and every morning that I’ve woken up is just as made up as my own ignorance towards my entropic condition. Unsubstantial water and the reminder of my own existence, a helpless child yet to even be able to move its own limbs. I skewed my body over the floor and contorted it in aching ways to vent my own frustration. I turned to myself and the knife that appeared before me, no note to say who it was from. It must have always been there I just had my eyes closed. Exhausted and panting I grabbed the knife and pressed it against my finger trying to wake myself up from this ever so permanent lucid dream. I sweat and drool as I push it further into my skin. My skin breaks pulling out the fluids from inside.
	A dark red path flows from the meat that I’ve cut traveling nowhere. My hand is bleeding but I feel nothing. Only anxiety from the cut and unknowing shock. I scream out in pain as parts of my bandage are taken off from my head. Contorting my body and squeezing the ichor out of my body does nothing to alleviate the intense stinging that gnaws at my head. I can only writhe and writhe in a futile attempt to ignore the unending flow of life that flows from the open wound. Taking the meat I've torn off and hopelessly trying to put it back makes me bawl into a pit and my heart drops. I am in my own hell and there is no water here. No life. I am stuck in a permanent room that serves no purpose other than for God to laugh at me. I didn’t mean to forget my prayers and show my devout belief, I assumed that Jesus loved me and in that I could pretend to pray and pretend to be devout and I wouldn’t be damned to a soulless existence where I am stuck with myself bleeding and a lump of meat that is no longer me but a decaying part of what I am. Contorting myself makes me forget where I am and myself. An act of expression is all I can do to vent any emotions that I’ve bottled up. Sprawled on the floor spitting up saliva and shouting obscenities until my throat burned. I remember when she first yelled at me when she woke up and crawled out of the crawlspace we lived in. She realized her own destitute living and demanded that I care for it and take care of myself. I remember her without legs crawling out of the underbelly of the house we lived under and me trying to pull her back into my grasp so we could stare at the floorboards together. I woke up with my eyes crusted over and my ears hearing the hum of my body pulsing. The walls remain illuminated and unchanging stare back at me. Unfazed I gaze at myself laying floating and see that her finger is missing too.