It's
2:39 in the morning and I'm still awake. Why the hell do I keep staring at the God damn clock when I should be
fast asleep. Three more hours till it makes that horrible squeaky
sound and I have to get up. And that prick boss of mine will be on my
balls all day if I'm late for work. I have nobody to wake up next to
since Vicky left my ass five months ago. We had the best two years of
our lives together, well, at least I had. She said she left me due to
my immaturity but I know she found a rich douchebag that takes her
out to dinner in fancy restaurants and serves her with caviar and
lobsters. I guess letting her go was the mature thing to do. I didn't
want to stand between her and her happiness even if it consisted of
a rich faggot and his hundred grand Porsche. My girlfriend left me, I
have a crappy car, crappy job, crappy apartment and now what,
INSOMNIA?
I haven't talked to my dad for two years now, he wanted me to be a politician, instead, I went to serve my fucking country in Afghanistan. Neither did my dad nor Vicky appreciate that.
I need to take some pills, my head aches like it was hit by Derek Jeter with a baseball bat, I have always been a New York Yankees fan.
My pills, my pills, my pills, Where are they? I walk through the bedroom like a fly around a light bulb at night. The kitchen! Well the horror movies I watched earlier are certainly not going to help. With easy, careful steps I walk out of the bedroom and inhale the smokeless air that filled my room, and now, my lungs. I miss the smell of the Virginia Slims Menthol she used to smoke. Good thing it's dark and I can't see her pictures on my wall and desk. I also miss the late nights when we used to stay up and watch movies and fight over popcorn.
There they are. As I put a tight grip on the small box of painkillers a quick image flashes through my mind: the one where she wears the funny Mickey Mouse ears and greets me with her gorgeous smile. My lips shift into creating a repulsive smirk, as if I am desperately trying to keep that beautiful shape of her face for as long as I can.
“Forget it Sam, she's a well mannered lady now, and you're a fucking loser”.
That image quickly disappears and I am now staring at the half-empty box of Ambien painkillers next to the note that says “Forgive me Victoria” .
Somehow, I skipped the part where I took half of it and shoved it down my throat with a little bit of whisky, I made sure they would reach my empty stomach. At least my head doesn't hurt that bad anymore.
My whole body begins to shudder uncontrollably, and my body parts remain paralyzed as darkness fades into the room, around me, it's everywhere, I can feel it. I am staring Death into her eyes and I'm happy she's taking me. No one is going to mourn my death, I just hope the note somehow gets to Vicky.
It's always fucked up to wake up from a nightmare, your pulse is over 160, you still can't tell the difference between reality and dreams. I'm also sweating like hell and the pressure on my chest is making every single breath, priceless. I need some air, FAST! I somehow reach the kitchen and open a window because the one in my bedroom was too little for my oxygen fulfillment. I literally dodged the asphyxiation that had me five seconds ago. As thoughts like “You need to call Vicky” and “You can't live without her” overflowed my mind, I almost didn't notice the half-empty box of Ambien painkillers on my kitchen table, almost.
My body freezes motionless and only my eyes glance upon the clock that with monotone precision shows 2:39 A.M. It isn't a dream anymore.
I haven't talked to my dad for two years now, he wanted me to be a politician, instead, I went to serve my fucking country in Afghanistan. Neither did my dad nor Vicky appreciate that.
I need to take some pills, my head aches like it was hit by Derek Jeter with a baseball bat, I have always been a New York Yankees fan.
My pills, my pills, my pills, Where are they? I walk through the bedroom like a fly around a light bulb at night. The kitchen! Well the horror movies I watched earlier are certainly not going to help. With easy, careful steps I walk out of the bedroom and inhale the smokeless air that filled my room, and now, my lungs. I miss the smell of the Virginia Slims Menthol she used to smoke. Good thing it's dark and I can't see her pictures on my wall and desk. I also miss the late nights when we used to stay up and watch movies and fight over popcorn.
There they are. As I put a tight grip on the small box of painkillers a quick image flashes through my mind: the one where she wears the funny Mickey Mouse ears and greets me with her gorgeous smile. My lips shift into creating a repulsive smirk, as if I am desperately trying to keep that beautiful shape of her face for as long as I can.
“Forget it Sam, she's a well mannered lady now, and you're a fucking loser”.
That image quickly disappears and I am now staring at the half-empty box of Ambien painkillers next to the note that says “Forgive me Victoria” .
Somehow, I skipped the part where I took half of it and shoved it down my throat with a little bit of whisky, I made sure they would reach my empty stomach. At least my head doesn't hurt that bad anymore.
My whole body begins to shudder uncontrollably, and my body parts remain paralyzed as darkness fades into the room, around me, it's everywhere, I can feel it. I am staring Death into her eyes and I'm happy she's taking me. No one is going to mourn my death, I just hope the note somehow gets to Vicky.
It's always fucked up to wake up from a nightmare, your pulse is over 160, you still can't tell the difference between reality and dreams. I'm also sweating like hell and the pressure on my chest is making every single breath, priceless. I need some air, FAST! I somehow reach the kitchen and open a window because the one in my bedroom was too little for my oxygen fulfillment. I literally dodged the asphyxiation that had me five seconds ago. As thoughts like “You need to call Vicky” and “You can't live without her” overflowed my mind, I almost didn't notice the half-empty box of Ambien painkillers on my kitchen table, almost.
My body freezes motionless and only my eyes glance upon the clock that with monotone precision shows 2:39 A.M. It isn't a dream anymore.
Dedicated
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