Dark vs Dark

I had a sick feeling in my gut…
I HAD a sick feeling in my gut…
I had A sick feeling in my gut…
I had a SICK feeling in my gut…
I had a sick FEELING in my gut…
I had a sick feeling IN my gut…
I had a sick feeling in MY gut…
I had a sick feeling in my GUT.

I drove to the localest, closest liquor store and bought a 40 of something…anything.

I sat alone in my car and washed a Xanax down with a swig of beer. I'll drink this beer nice and slow.

I drove to Tijuana, Mexico. I found an English speaking, middling drug dealer and bought a couple roofies; I bought five roofies; I put them in an Altoids box. I bought a couple bottles of tequila and got myself a hotel room.

This seemed like the near end.

I drove back to California the next morning. I got home, and no one was home. I got on my computer and searched for  the most beautiful girl on my Facebook friends list. It had to be a girl I liked, as well as found attractive. She had to be nice; she had to be beautiful; she had to be nice; she had to be beautiful; it had to be…her.

So I found her. I drove to wherever she lived. We "ran into each other."

"Oh, well hey what are y'all doing tonight?" It was a weekend.

"Oh, well hey we're all hanging out…you know so-and-so, right?" She was the fly, and I was the spider.

"Yes. I know so-and-so. I'll call him up. I'll see you there."

"Oh, well hey see ya later."

"Oh, well hey see ya later."

I called, and it was all set. We'd meet at a bar. We'd party after. I'd giver her a roofie. I'd take her to a hotel, and she'd "willingly" have sex with me.

This all seemed like the near end for me.

Afterwards, I'd head over to that cliff and go for a dive, and then it would really be the end for me. And that would be it.

It all went well and right and the way I planned it, and everyone had fun, but something went "wrong" the morning after…

"Hey, you. Come back to bed."

I was about to leave the room. I was about to leave her and everyone else forever. I was about to be forever gone.

"Where are you going?"

"Uh…I don't really remember what happened last night," I lied.

"Oh, well hey, let me remind you," she beamed at me.

Years flashed by, as the cliff waited for me to jump off of it.

The end kept seeming further and further away.

We had gotten married and all that. We had had kids and all that. She had fallen in love with me and all that. I had already been in love with her (and a million other girls) and all that. We bought a car and all that. We bought another car and all that. And then we bought yet another car and all that. We bought a house and all that. We bought some dogs and cats and all that. We went to church and all that. We went on vacations and all that. She did what she did and all that, and I did what I did and all that.

She died one day. I never told her about roofie-ing her–––––––––––––she seemed to like me–––––––she seemed to love me for god's sake–––––––––––––––and I loved her too, and I didn't want to ruin anything for her.

I found my little Altoids box in a corner somewhere, and I opened it with my old, crusty, wrinkly, hurting fingers. I dumped the remaining four roofies in the toilet; I flushed them; I sat down.

I barely got up. I barely stood up. I walked over to a fine mirror we had in our room, and I asked myself aloud, "Why does it seem like it's always DARK vs DARK?" I cried for several centuries.

And then I just hoped a light would shine on me, over me, through me, out of me–––––forever.