The prospect of doing it again fills me with filth. The feeling of doom, sorrow and sadness all come towards me at once. I drown in the aftermath. Time passes by. Stations pass by. The hum of the train intermeshes with my inner turmoil. I remember the face. Sad, sorry, grateful, unhappy yet with a joyful glow. The eyes, playful, constantly watching, the rays of fear shining through as if to pierce your own. Imagine such a face. Everywhere I look, I seem to see people laughing at me, some staring – probably thinking that they were me, some with disgusted looks. I blink. Some are reading, some asleep at the station benches. I look inward. Inside me, I see a hot flaming vulva, pulsating with an orange-red glow, beckoning, like a movie of a flower blooming, forward, backward, forward, backward. Outside, I see a million lights racing past. Other times it seemed beautiful. Now, it seems, every one of them is struggling, to light up the night, to stay sane and to calm themselves, to ward of the evil, inside me, inside the night, inside themselves. A tear drops on the paper, trying to blotch out the words as I write, as if trying to forget. Lucky I use a pencil. I cannot forget. I will not forget. The pain of realization has to live within me, lest I slip toward the pulsating demon again. The bare room with shiny walls, a soft glow, a tea-cup on the side table, clothes on the lone chair. A cell. A cell of living the truth of life. Slowly the train pulls up to my transfer station. I change trains and breathe a sigh of relief. The last train pulls away, taking part of my anguish with it. As I enter the other train, I seem to think. This is how it’s always been, will always be. Such a waste. I get off the train and head home, wiping away the tears in my eyes. What happened? I do not know. I lost control. Even with the strength of a thousand civilizations behind me, I realize, I am still an animal.
-Tram Zack
mogambo on stuff: halftilts caveat 