Destroyed

I wish you’d just stop this bullshit.

Oh, Kitten, always so critical.

Can’t you see how hungover we are? We’ve earnt the right to talk like this. We actually had an adventure, while you were writing your magnum opus. A misadventure. We descended. We went down. To the abject. To abjection.

And dejection.

We were fucking destroyed. By our own hands. Our own drinking hands.

You’ve been together too much. You’re finishing each other’s sentences. The way you guys live. It’s sick. You’re sick. This isn’t how you’re supposed to live. This isn’t what you’re supposed to do.

Sure, tell us Kitten. Instruct us. We need to know. How should we be living.

Not like this, anyway. The way you wallow in your so-called despair. Which isn’t despair at all.

So what is it then?

You’re mediocre and you suffer from your mediocrity.

Devastating, Kitten. But you’re so right, Kitten – we’re mediocre. MEDIOCRE.

We accept your judgement, Kitten, Your judgement is correct. No one knows it better than us. We disappoint ourselves. We’ve never stopped disappointing ourselves. This is our state, we accept it. After all, what can we do.

We’re not like you, writing your magnum opus.

And stop talking about my magnum opus.

 

We don’t drink enough, that’s our problem. It hasn’t become a way of life. We’re not alcoholics. Not yet.

Aspirant alcoholics. Maybe that’s what we are.

There’s a kind of self-cruelty we’ve yet to muster. So we’re outsourcing it to you. Be cruel, Kitten. We’re ready. Our chests are bare. Slip the knife in.

 

You’re a do-gooder – so do some good, Kitten. You know what’s best. Tell us: we’re ready to listen.

We’ve had enough! God knows!

 

Maybe there’s still hope for us. Our lives aren’t in a state of total collapse. We aren’t in total freefall. We’re not destitute. We’re not even alcoholics – not yet, at least. Our heart’s not even in drinking.

So where are our hearts?

It’s a mystery. What do we want? What can we do?

To write something, maybe. To think something. Are we any good at that? A single thought. A single idea. To write a single line that isn’t … secondary commentary. An idea of our own! God knows!