Fable of the Discontent

To hate life

What a strange pace to be in.

Well, more discontent than anything…

What’s the point?  Why am I here?

Why?

Is there too much pain?  Do I feel abandoned?

No, not abandoned, no real pain either. Then why?

Uncertainty I guess. Contradictions…

Looking for meaning in a life filled with purpose.

Waiting a friend in a room full of people.

Voicing out against hypocrisy and knowing you are a hypocrite.

Being sad when you should be happy.

Wanting to be loved while knowing you are.

Looking for the touch that is just inches away.

Why do I feel this way?  I don’t know…

It’s not as bad as it was.  I know she loves me. 

Why do it still hurt?

I'll have part 3 soon enough.  There is no part I.  This is an updated version...

Aegri somnia

(A sick mans dreams)

Part II

            A long pregnant pause followed. He looked up over the bottle of Jack at the blank faces across from him, hoping to find some meaning in there vacant gazes. The place almost as run down as the poor bastards that shared its company.  The bar was made out of dark oak and was scratched and warped from years of squalor.  The stools cradled your bottom rather nicely, but your legs had an impeccable tendency to go numb after a few hours. They were comfortable, but not comfortable enough to allow the alkies to fall asleep on them.  Probably the only positive thing you could really say about it was that the glasses were clean. He stared at the bottle of Captain Morgan® next to him and realizing how smug the captain looked, he turned the bottle away since he was in no mood for company. 

            “My wife…” he muttered to an audience of one. She wasn’t his wife, never was, but with how long it had lasted she might as well have been. She still… He took another drink, feeling the apathy he yearned for flowing into his veins. “My God, what have I done?”
            He placed his hands onto his now swollen, burning eyes. Resting his forehead on the table, he gripped the back of his skull with his trembling hands as he felt another wave of pain flow through his body. He never knew when the pain was coming anymore.  He could be doing the most simple of tasks when a torrent of torment would sweep over him. It felt like a pickax was being driven into his all ready dark and shriveled heart. The pain was not what truly bothering him though. What truly overwhelmed him was the emptiness.  In the space that existed between the moments of agony, he could feel nothing. No joy, anger…nothing. It was like being asleep for years and waking up in hell.
            Did anyone understand the pain he was in?  

            No… not even her. She couldn’t…could she?
            For a moment, the image of her weeping flashed through his mind. She looked up at him with those beautiful brown eyes, now sick and empty, the expression on her face capable of shattering even the brightest day.
            His stomach wrenched as the pain welled up inside of him so strongly he nearly threw up. Tears burst forth from his already throbbing eyes, adding salt to an already gaping wound. He tried to cry out but the pain lodged itself in his throat. The bones in his wrists ached as a deep shudder of anguish tore through his body.
            “My God, what have I done?”

            With a pool of salty tears forming on the table, he continued to sit, his face in a caustic puddle; one hand on the bottle and the other gripping his aching stomach. He begged for contact; a kiss, an embrace… He would do anything to simply rest his hand on her face and wipe away her… 

“Shut up.” he whimpered to himself as he took another swig from the bottle, not even bothering to pour the tainted liquid into a glass. Every articulation in his body felt like it was fragmenting apart as he felt another wave sweep over him. “Kill me,” he selfishly pleaded, “please…kill me”

“What the hell have I done…?”

She said she would never regret the time they had spent together.  That she would cherish every moment they had spent together.  He did not share her sentiment.  He was beginning to loath it. The thought of her used to bring him so much joy but, now it caused him unbearable pain. Even though he wanted to be able to cherish those memories, he found he couldn’t.

He finished off the bottle of Jack and checked his wallet. Empty. He could have brought more money but limiting his cash prevented him from doing anything foolish. It was time to go home.

Aegri somnia

(a sick mans dreams)

Part 2

 A long pregnant pause followed.  He looked over the bottle of Jack at the blank faces across from him, trying to find the significance that seemed to be absent in his own life

“My wife…” he muttered to an audience of one.  She wasn’t his wife, never was, but with how long it had been she might as well be. She still could…  He took another drink, feeling the apathy he yearned passing into his veins.  “My God, what have I done?”

He placed his hands onto his now swollen, burning eyes.  Why did it have to be like this?  Resting his forehead on the table, he griped the back of his head with his hands as he felt another wave of pain flow through his body, ripping through him and making him shake violently.  He never knew when the pain was coming.  He could be doing the simplest of tasks, like getting dressed, when a torrent of torment would sweep over him.  It felt like a pickax was being driven into his now dark and battered heart. It wasn’t the pain that truly bothered him though. The emptiness was what agonized him; the utter and surprising lack of emotion.  In the space that existed between the moment of agony he felt nothing.  No joy, no anger…nothing.  It was like being asleep and then waking up in hell.

Did anyone understand the pain he was in?

No… not even her.  She couldn’t understand…

Could she?  For a moment the image of her weeping flashed through his mind.  She looked up at him with those beautiful brown eyes, now sick and empty, the expression on her face capable of shattering even the brightest day.

His stomach wrenched.  The pain welled up inside of him so strongly he nearly threw up.  Tears burst forth from his already throbbing eyes, like adding salt to an already gapping wound.  He tried to cry out but the pain lodged itself in his throat.  The bones in his wrists ached as a deep shudder of anguish tore through his body.

“My God.  What have I done..?”

Bush pledges to keep U.S. troops in Iraq

The Saddest Song Ever

This song was wriiten by Billie Holiday and was an adaptation of a work written by Rezsô Seress.

It was considered so sad that it gained the reputation as the suicide song.

What do you think?

Sunday is gloomy,
My hours are slumberless
Dearest the shadows
I live with are numberless
Little white flowers
Will never awaken you
Not where the black coaches
Sorrow has taken you
Angels have no thoughts
Of ever returning you
Wouldnt they be angry
If I thought of joining you?

Gloomy sunday

Gloomy is sunday,
With shadows I spend it all
My heart and i
Have decided to end it all
Soon therell be candles
And prayers that are said I know
But let them not weep
Let them know that Im glad to go
Death is no dream
For in death Im caressin you
With the last breath of my soul
Ill be blessin you

Gloomy sunday

Dreaming, I was only dreaming
I wake and I find you asleep
In the deep of my heart here
Darling I hope
That my dream never haunted you
My heart is tellin you
How much I wanted you
Gloomy sunday