The Brass Rail

I don’t exactly know what’s wrong with me physically. It’s either my heart, or my testicles. How… fuck.

I can’t concentrate.

I can’t think of a simple word.

How fitting, to die with men in suits yapping around me. Why the fuck not? I’ll have another damn coffee.

I’m twenty years old and I’ve never had any tragedies in life besides life itself. I haven’t experienced the horrors of war, starvation, nor has any immediate family member of mine died. I have lived a life filled with people who love me, although it has only been up until recently that I have realized how I care about them.

I wasted three years of my life longing for the two years prior to that period. I’ve felt ambivalent about these things. Everything is a dichotomy.

Across the street I was treated for four months at South Jersey Behavioral Health Resources. What an asinine concept- behavior doesn’t exist.

These words are in vain

-death keeps teasing-

I am ultimately a hypocrite,

a part of me certainly is afraid.

Sitting on a toilet now in a public bathroom. This is one of the few times in my life where I have become a different person. Understanding suffering is the most noble endeavor. Once I had thought that passing over this bridge was a monotonous thing. Yet the pain is different every time.

People may not matter in the universe, but each of them is living in their own, and since every need seems applicable to different people’s situations then there can be apparent worth. When our internal organs combust is when engines gain life.

5 replies on “The Brass Rail”

That’s right we are alive and we are alone and it’s our challenge to get through the MUCK. Wonderfully existential thinking and introspection. You’ve certainly got a strong self-awareness thing going on, for better or worse really haha It resonates. I’ve often thought ignorance is definitely bliss. :) Thanks for posting this and for facing your own fears and reality. Not many do.

Many of us had to get much older before we were smart enough to pose some of the questions you pose, Sean. Answers don’t come easily, but there’s poetry in the questions.

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