NOTHING ELSE MATTERS
Nothing Else Matters
JERE HUTCHINSON
Happiness?
It’s one of those things,
those undefined things that everyone says they have, but no one really knows what the hell they’re talking about.
It’s that thought,
that thought that keeps us going, that keeps us believing in something, in someone special.
It’s all bullshit.
Am I happy?
Happiness is a drug,
numbing the senses. Causing clarity; beautiful, stunning realism to a world which is a dream.
I am sober.
But sobriety welcomes something different. A kind of melancholy confusion; fog clouding the mind and sending strobes of claustrophobic pain coursing in my veins.
Happiness?
I felt it once,
felt the intense bliss of being alive.
I am dead now and everyday I feel it.
It’s thickness in my mouth,
It’s stinging in my eyes,
The taste of her sweet lips.
I still hear her voice
The sound of wheels screeching,
The explosion.
It’s all a dream to me now.
“Happiness is your perception of the world.”
What the fuck do they know!?!
You can’t perceive anything when all you see,
feel,
hear,
taste,
want;
is to have,
hold,
love her. To shut out everything,
everyone,
except her.
Nothing Else Matters
In a world full of insane people, sanity is the enemy.
The sanity to see what you’ve lost.
The despair of knowing that in life you
only get one chance.
I blew it.
What I wouldn’t give to tell her what I should have told her then; so long ago.
“You don’t know love, you’re too young.”
I don’t know love, I know the loss of love, that eternal nightmare wracking my corporeal body with sorrow. My own personal hell. I know what I’ve lost;
my soul.
And I know that I can never, EVER, get it back;
never get her back.
