blood eaters

12/7/2008

cold. little words to mean big things. i sat in a wooden chair on the balcony discussing to myself the theory of unending life. "what would you accomplish if you had unlimited time?" damn cold. i feel as if im being bitten by a thousands mosquitoes with teeth. the kids in this neighborhood never sleep. if i had half a mind, id tell them to the shut the fuck up. But they dont bother me. Maybe i pretend they do just to have something to occupy my mind. i used to be like them, supposing the world will never change. i light a cigarette and curse myself for not having control, for who can stop a train with their lungs? i sat still unfed waiting for any disease to force me into submission. my youth holds me like a candle stick. lit and burning. "if i have to move then i have to die." i often give myself unrealistic ultimatums. anything i can do to relieve reality from my mind. the clock read 15 past 11, just enough time to see if paul can assist my desire of the flesh. i dont like going over there past midnight. its not thats he sleeping, i just never know what to expect in the early hours of the morning from him. the one time i did stop by at midnight, no one answered. 20 minutes later he comes running into my flat, bleeding, screaming something about how he never do it again. i never bothered going into too much detail with him, seems as if theres no real substance there anyways. sometimes hes just strung out and theres music blasting through my ceiling until 7. i dont really mind, sleep is something i do during the day when theres no one to talk to. one double knock and of course, "hey paul, you here?" i never really know what hes doing before i come over but its always takes at least 4 minutes before he gets to the door. "hey, hey, glad you came over man, i uh, got something i gotta show you," he let out in one breath. the sheer smell of his place had me thinking thai food that murdered a burrito. I half expected him to offer me a piece of deer meat, that wouldve made sense. i make it to the living room, which is really just the space between his bed and his kitchen. "you ever eat blood?" he smirked. i waited for a moment thinking of the best response. paul had always been quick to have a clever quip. "yeah but she asked me stop," i said with grin. he smiled with long pause behind his eyes, "i bet she did," he replied, "i bet she left a stain on your heart." i sat in the only chair in the room, which happened to be the one i threw in the dumpster 3 weeks ago. he stumbled around, back and forth between the kitchen and the bathroom, thinking to himself. i broke the ice, "do you ever eat blood?" the look on his face turned from being paranoid to completely spun. "here-" he jolted, "eat this and call me tomorrow." truthfully i would take whatever paul gave me, i trusted him without even knowing his last name. Still, a voice inside me told me i should at least prepare myself for it, with information. "well what the fuck is it man?" i asked with a sincere tone. "Blood," he said, "blood opium." i smiled with a sigh of relief and made my way for the door. I didn't give a fuck about the name, it couldve actually been made with blood for all i care. I felt his eyes burning into the back of my head as i opened the door. "you should lock your door behind me," i suggested, "never know how many assholes could be attracted by the scent of a thai food massacre." i think i must talk too fast. he stared looking confused for at least 30 seconds before saying, "let them come." "bold," i said to him, "matter of fact, sounds like a death wish." At that moment i recalled being 8 years old and already knowing, i was going to ditch my family and become everything they wished i wouldnt. I thought i was ready to die then and i think im ready to die now, but i know the moment the guns at my head, i'll think of something id rather do. i didn't bother explaining this to him, too much of a task for me. how could i begin to tell anyone that as a child i knew i would ruin my life and i never even tried to stop it. Back in my room, i pour three fingers out of the remains of two rye bottles. I sat holding the ball of opium to the light, like a rare gem. I thought to myself, "blood thirsty bastards." i swallowed that fucker whole and called a cab, "do you take post-dated checks?"