Tick tick tick. The song begins the same way it ends. The same fucking way it always ends. It’s another lonely evening in another lonely town. I ain’t too old and I ain’t too young and I start to worry. I start to cry. She got me down, you see, and now I am sitting here, another empty bottle and another empty bed.
The lights are flashing and the bass is throbbing and the pulsating rhythm is in my head, in my head. And I’m there to see her again. I tell myself I won’t, but I do. And here I am. I hate myself for what I am.
The black haired girl came up to me, as is her way, and didn’t speak.
I didn’t speak. We didn’t speak.
We all want something beautiful and we danced the silence. We cut up and we grooved and the dance was vibrant and animated. The groove, you know, it gets in you. The dance is the briefest solace.
I ain’t too old, you see, to admit it. I am just an empty head. An empty head. Buddhists, I suppose, will tell you that this is a good place to start. I disagree.
Red flashing and shadows cast in time with the rhythm and I’m struck by the inanity of it all. Struck dumb and I ride in and I tell myself, no, not again. I tell myself but I never listen. I never fucking listen. I never will.
All I can do is ride on. I can go out and I can go away. I can make my way into the cold night air, and I can tell myself that one of these days – one of these days, I’m going to change my evil ways. One of these days I’ll end this nightmare.
She took my hand and led me off the dance floor. The look in her eyes was as real as it can be. A look of loneliness and understanding. A look for me. At me.
No, through me.
But I’m just lying to myself, of course. I break promises, I break hearts. and I ain’t too young, too young to try. There’s another beginning for me out there, somewhere. And there’s another red light district and another empty head to which I can join my empty head for a short night, another empty bed, another bout of horrifying loneliness to follow.
I don’t know where they go. It’s another nightmare. I go with them and they come with me. I know it. When I wake up, the nightmare begins; they are gone. Each of them in their time, they are gone. Today is every day, and every day is today.
My eyes are bloodshot and I haven’t spoken to anyone in weeks.
And, yet, I ride on. I got myself a one-way ticket going the wrong way. Ha! Sing the blues if it helps. Cry if it helps. One of these days I’ll change, one of these days, if this purgatory every ends.
Today we headed back to the same motel. The same girl, the same motel. The same disappearance. The same drama. The same. The peace, the beauty, the violation, the desperation. The cycle swarms around carries me down like some cosmic shitter.
The snow is lightly falling in the cone of the streetlights outside. There are no footprints. Never. Never are.
One of these days, I’m going to change my evil ways. Please, let me. Please.
The next night is the same. Lights and throbbing and flashing and I am the voice inside my head.
I am here again, and I told myself the last time was really the last.
And there she is again. Quiet. Hardly moving. How long had she been watching me. No, I won’t let myself, I think as I get closer to her, how can escape this Groundhog Day?
That look, that black hair, that piercing stare, blue eyes on black makeup.
“I’ll take you where you want to go,” she broke the promise of the silence, and I fell back in shock. Never in the 10,072 days of this Hell has anyone broken script.
“I am the denial and the guilt and the fear,” I could hardly make out her words above the cacophony around me and in my head. She drew back and looked deeper, deeper through me. I wanted to run but she had my hands in hers and pulled back against me.
She started to laugh like an innocent girl next door would laugh at a silly boy, only this wasn’t silly and she wasn’t innocent.
The music stopped, everyone stopped dancing, turned to me, staring through me, and began to advance.