give me a reason to end this discussion

I am the deaf and dumb and blind boy, sitting alone in front of a flickering screen, digitalia and half-tones bringing nothing but regrets and responsibilities unfulfilled. But then again, who knows more than me about promise undone and worn down by neglect and self-abuse? No one, that's who. Lets throw out the bathwater and keep the baby this time, and burn the bush and the bird contained therein. I am waiting for something to go right this time, and extending my thoughts in your direction, hoping you will hear me as you sleep. I am restless and wanton, full of indifference and disarmaments, tired of waiting to be tired. Blending into the background noise, looking for patterns in the white sounds and distortion patterns, this echo is repeating (repeating repeating), "TRUST ME, I know what I'm doing." I miss the ability to rhyme and reason my way out of everything and the situation bears repeating (repeating repeating). Call me stranger, call me lover, call me friend, call me any time, call me whatever you want. Just call. Down and out in south jersey and willing myself to wake up when there's really nothing to keep me anchored here, I float above the horizon and drift towards the sunset that has disappeared in the grey overcast afternoon and iced over tree limbs. The road tonight is cold with ice, so good night, sweetheart, good night.

I want there to be an answer, even though I haven't asked the question. I've left it as an ellipse, and with apologies to Zach Braff, an ellipse is no way to leave things. I am tired of metaphors and synonyms and similes and rhyme schemes and pipe dreams and flailing in the dark for the right thing to say and writing in code and pregnant pauses and silence that says more than any words and broken phone connections and not saying what I mean and not meaning what I say and not meaning anything and not saying anything and. endings. Endings are hard. "I'm waiting for something to go wrong" but I'm afraid I was never right and I'm not going to say anything because I'm just barely breathing as it is and I'm afraid of everything. Everything being different. Everything being the same. "Goodbye", "Hello", its all the same anymore to me. Kiss me goodnite, then erase me from your memory. If you want. If you want me.

Ohwellwhatevernevermind. What was I saying? I'm lost in a quarterlifecrisis. Lost in the mail. Lost in the mall. I could be lost in you, but "you" is a concept that I am not sure exists anymore, if it ever did. Besides, "you" could be nothing but an imagination that ran away with itself over the hills and into westampton. "Are you out there, do you hear me?" Do I still hate me? No. I've become accustomed to myself and all my inequities, and I am comfortable with who I am. I'm just not sure that I can last long in this forward moving time frame of existence. "What is the 4th dimension?" is my query and allegory and metaphorical statement of consciousness. I said forever. It got shorter. Goddamn you Zach Braff and Charlie Kaufman for defining my existence. "Fuck you, and your shortness of breath." That one's dedicated to a dud bomb. I'd call you. But I don't think you would answer. And I'm not sure what I'd ask. Held my breath, just then. Call me on it. Please. Won't "you"?
Oh well.
Whatever.
Nevermind.

Really, everything is fine.
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