Inner State

an excerpt from a chapter of a book I've been... longing to write

There were many times I felt death but there was no happiness to decorate the moment with- it was just purified numbness and resignation. Driving down the freeway, I’m staring at the broken lines on the pavement and the nude barricade to my left, but it’s only my thoughts I see. 

Crashes, flames, me dying in a head on collision. 

Me driving the car, on purpose or on accident- they are really one in the same- into the barricade thats already wrapped in my taut white skin, then darkness, forever. 

I could splatter and melt into the barricade; no body, just some blood and steel mystifying the streets. The place in the mind where these moments exist has a way of running me sometimes. Running me straight into that barricade. 

My eyes lies to my brain, and my brain lies to itself, and I see this barricade as a dense, monstrous wall licking the night sky. seducing me like a street w***e. And I still feel nothing. Not even the warmth of the orange lights on my stage of death can keep me in a sunshine state.

Many people die here, many people who aren’t thinking about it. At least I would know some final punctuation is to follow this phlegmaticness.