Another Nowhere. Another Long, Slow Suicide.

The path. The shuffling, sleepless, midnight waltz of wondering and second-guessing. Memories left behind that return from the din and shadow to take you down from behind when you aren’t looking. The shadow from behind, knife wielding, wild like a claw. A blade in your back back as you sleepwalk through your day.
Memorizing the car and plate number because you didn’t like the look in his eye or the way he smoked, or the way he swung wide making the turn. If you were a cop you’d follow him. Looking for a reason to pull him over-suspecting you might find ‘tools’ like rope etc. in the spotless trunk. Maybe that it why he never replaced the defective license plate. The chipping reflective background his one submission to imperfection that might otherwise draw too much attention to his all too clean demeanor. Sober. Single. Driving around  at 4am in a car inherited from Grandpa.
Calm.
Well-rested.
Too confident and polite.
Or maybe you are just thinking of your own mistakes.
Where are your pictures of her? What happened?
Why?
Did you blow it, or is it a blessing in disguise?
You aren’t ever getting ‘round this are you? Never shaking loose no matter how many times you shed your skin. Run in circles. Paint yourself into corners. Shy away. Avoid prudently.
Obsess.
Wake up sweating.
Wake up screaming, “I’m gonna kill you, you SICK FUCK!”
...while reaching for your piece.....
 Feeling the guilt of dreaming of her until she finally shrieks at you in your dream to leave her alone. Is she on the receiving end in her dreams too...then what does that mean?
 That you are right?
That you are wrong?
That you were wrong and now your obsession is right?
Is that why you wait for the the sun to sleep?
There were already too many shadows following you into your dreams?
Afraid she would meet one of the monsters that are waiting with shotguns and hatchets behind you door when you come home at night? That she might get confused with one of them and get caught in the crossfire?....or like one of them better?
What made you like this?
What sort of animal gets treated like a friend by monsters?
Surely they don’t smell their own kind?
Why are you startled to to feel the butt of your pistol in the dark at night?
You put it there. There for a reason,no?
Why would you second guess prudence dictating broader shoulders, a stronger chin.....?
That is Mother Nature making you safer.
Old Man Darkness and my sidearm.
If it wasn’t a game, why did you not take it more seriously?
Maybe you wanted to be nothing more than a few teeth in a random, undiscovered pile of ash somewhere.
Maybe you just lost your purpose-or found it again.
..for the first time.
Or got lost in the fantasy world that told you these things aren’t real.
There is no boogeyman. No Legba. No Devil Himself.
Can’t be. Just a teleplay in black and white on Kinescope, late at night, to make you scared for fun and buy stuff-right?
If you don’t belive, the Man won’t neither.
The Non-Believer gets no play. He is just an amateur...but your game...? Heh. Never happened.
You become a cold-case. Maybe an itch in some old dick’s craw-after he retires and has time to think about such things.
Vanished. Ran away? Suicide?
Yeah, probably.
He left all his stuff and his cat almost starved? His friends say “no...?...that should be enough..surely?
Not if there is no proof it ain’t-sorry ma’am. We’ll let you know if anything changes.
What if no one keeps asking?
What happens then?
Shit gets sold. Someone takes the cat. Friends wonder....right? Or did all the writing, all the notes on the laptop, all the thoughts of fear imparted to those not departed just add up to one escape plan or another.
One good.
One bad.
None the wiser.
That was the plan?

Was it truly? Was that the real reason it happened? Just giving up in the sickest way possible? Bitching-out when you always stood to the last-even for the dumbest reasons? Was it all just a game of chicken?
Another long, slow suicide. Another nowhere?
Waiting for the shoe to drop-because it always will?
..so, really, there is no point...?
Just laying there, wondering if you should jerk off again, just to prove a point, or get some sleep.
Wake up in the morning.
Shower.
Dress.
And field-strip and clean your pistol over morning coffee.
And plan for the here and now.
And the future.