Poison

I don’t believe in fate. I don’t believe there is a reason for everything, but I do believe that there are wrong turns, stronger forces which draw you in, no, suck you in. perhaps I’m too cynical. My wife said I was but her smile tended to smooth the rough edges of that sentence. I miss her. I miss her honesty. I miss human feelings, these leaves of Sydney offer little emotion. Sometimes a park bench becomes my spot but when I’m lying on a bench, I’m not as inconspicuous. I feel their stares. I smell their discomfort. Sure, Sydney’s not a small town, doesn’t mean no one knows me. Just yesterday I saw my old friend from work. I miss work. Work was my everything, come to think of it she probably became frustrated with that, not my drinking. It’s laughable though … she was no angel herself. I don’t know why it’s only now I’m thinking this through. Just to kill time I suppose. It’s only been four months I’ve been out ... of jail. I didn’t plan this, just a wrong turn. I guess murder tends to be a wrong turn, doesn’t it?1

Wow, when I say murder it sounds so much less sinister, well, I know there was a reason, I’m not a serial killer but no matter how many times I think about it, I’ll never remember why I did it. I’d keep a log book on it if I could afford it. The only thing I can do is analyse my actions, again and again and again until I become the crazy old man in the park. I have nightmares when I sleep, not that it’s often. Her face slowly fades in and just silently screams. Dreams only last two seconds but I can’t ever wake up from this one. She’s holding me there, pleading. I can’t even stand to relive the dream, let alone the memories of the real event. 2

I wasn’t always like this. I owned a business. I wore suits. I typed on the latest computers. I caught the train. I carried a briefcase. I passed the homeless with such contempt, so much disgust … you just can’t pick it can you? If I believed in fate I’d say ‘fate works in mysterious ways’ but I lost those beliefs when I lost my wife to him. 3

I’d have employees over for Friday night poker. I caught on that constant toilet breaks and long ‘phone calls’ were as legitimate as the bible. My soul mate? She didn’t exist anymore. I had to prove she didn’t exist. I had to do it. My justification is poor and unstable but for my piece of mind, it works. It’s fine. Any reason is good, as long as you’ll shut up. 4

Not too long now. 5

Epiphanies. I love them. Sudden realisations of truth. Of great truth. None of these people that pass me, everyday, with the same expression will help me, why waste time? Time is money. I miss money. I miss the freedom it gave me. I miss the way it was ruining my liver. A few dollars is all I need now which is easy as peas to get, people are too pitiful. I’m a little ashamed to say that I live off peoples pity. Literally. This is my only companion. This bottle that says “Keep away from children”. POISON. Some of these chemicals I can’t even pronounce. I remember when I stripped paint with it. Now it serves a different purpose; it’s my anti-dote. I’ll say it now … I think I was a mistake. I’ve hurt too many, I’ve hurt too much. I can’t say I don’t deserve any of it. I feel I’m alone, every passer-by believes in fate. They just think they know me, how I act, what I’ll do. If they know my history, its worse. They really believe this is way it was supposed to be. Everything is following the right path. 6

If I’m to be less cynical for her, for just now, I’ll believe that ‘fate’ sticks up two signs to indicate two choices. One of them has flashing lights and a fancy sign saying ‘pick this’; the other is dark, illusive. The future is still in our control, we’re just told what to choose from. So this metho, this POISON is my choice. Ow. It burns. But it’s manageable. I wonder if I take a few more mouthfuls … if I’d die. There’s no other way out, only one dark road. What am I supposed to do, stand at the cross roads forever? So I’ll take two more. And suffer. After I die, only then will people pay attention to me. Oh they missed me. Oh, I was ever so nice. Oh, I had so much potential. Oh … I didn’t. The pain is deep and hot. Searing down through my throat. So it’s ‘the time’ as those who believe in fate would say. I can feel the death bleed like paint on dampened paper out to my skin. I think, I think I see a flashing light, and a fancy sign. But it’s fading away, never mind.