In My Room

I am alone in my room. The cool wind from the fog outside my window blows around, making my room a little misty. I turn my electric fan to face the window, creating a transfer of the mist. My cigarette is lit as it is lodged gently between my lips almost as if I were giving it a gentle kiss. Sucking the smoke out of the tobacco, I inhale pure rest. Everything has a cost and so I pay with my lungs, but I don’t mind. It’s just the way I like it. I watch movies, videos, and work around different websites on my browser, wishing I had a beer. If I’d have things my way, I’d end every night like this. I’d write till the early morning beckons my eyes to wander the screen, fixating on the couch I use for my bed. I’ve never liked whole beds anyway. So I ponder what’s next for the story I write (other than this). I want it published, but somehow, I am too lazy to finish my expectations. If only I could take the time out of each day to write twenty pages, I’d be fully functional, but alas, school has never failed to disturb my peaceful loneliness. Don’t get me wrong, I am a misanthrope at heart, but not as strong as a true human exile. I am no monk with internet access, and I enjoy the company of others. Loneliness is quite the unbearable pleasure. I enjoy my solace, and yet I crave for a partner. I crave for someone to wake up to in the morning. Nothing serious: just hot blood, sex, cigarettes and alcohol. I also crave for my friends. Making music is one of my most enjoyable moments to cherish. I love my band almost as much as I love words. Just not enough, though. Just not enough.

I am alone in my room, and for now, I enjoy the solitude with my cigarette. A little later, I will turn to a little pornography to ease my raging testosterone levels. It’s not the same as the real thing, but it’s better than nothing. I can only hope for a lover who will care for me, living every second of life with the subtle reason for doing so being my existence. If only someone would allow me that grace, I would return the favor wholeheartedly. I sigh, as I know that it is yet to come, if it does come at all. Nevertheless, I take another hit from my cigarette, pleasing myself with the slow suicide. I stare out the window into the misty night darkness as my lamp brightens the surroundings.

All of this happening, in my room.

(c) AnachronicWorks 2011

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