Can it happen like that? Bring death on. Bring it quick, bring it fast, bring it early, just by thinking about it all the time? Scientists say good thoughts can heal, placebo effect and all that. But those goth kids, all dressed in black with pale makeup and raccoon eyes, dark and twitchy, listening to that God afwul screeching music. They're all about death. Living death is what they are, but still they walk around, living their happy, healthy, miserable, grunting lives. Maybe they aren't committed enough. Maybe the real goths go quick, and the ones we see walking around are the uncommitted leftovers. Part time goths, all of them.
But where does that leave me? I'm not depressed, I know that. Or I'm just so good at faking enjoying time with my people that I've started to fool even myself. Because (I think) I do enjoy my friends. I'm pretty sure. I enjoy bars and booze and pool and hustling and driving and fucking and swearing and doing my job. But then I'll see someone dead. Mauled. Strung up. Cut up. Laced. So, so many ways I see it. Have seen it. Repeats, these are. Classic hits. Golden oldies. I saw them. I can't un-see them. I can't stop seeing. And then, instead of them, I'll see me. Mauled or strung or cut or whatever. Me dead, instead of them. I don't want to see it. I'm not willing it to happen. But so it goes. And what's worse is I'm getting used to it. Just last night I was drinking with Davis and there on the bar was me with my heart cut out. And I didn't even flinch. Just kept talking away.
Occupational stress? Or should I get worried?
Inspiration from:
Line suggested by Sara.
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