Grayscale, a Monologue

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This was written about a decade ago and I honestly couldn't tell you what I was thinking or going through when I wrote it. It was originally called "Shades of Grey" and once a popular book with a similar title came out I thought it best to change the name.

Grayscale

A Monologue
by
Christopher Michael Carter

Why do I bother helping the people that ignore me the most? I’m through with helping. I’m through with being a nice guy. I’m done with working so hard to stay outta trouble. I’m done with working so hard to not get in the stuff that kills me. The same people I stay clean for push me to do it. Sick and tired of the nice guy speech. Let me love you please. I need to let my guard down. I need this disease. The only love I know is when the house is clean.

Why am I ignored? I try so hard to change and self-improve when I realize I’ve changed so much I now look as what I was. I’ve matured so much but I’m still in the shell of my past. So excited when he came back forgetting that along with him came my invisibility.

I try so hard to like her. Really, but I can’t stand her childish acts. I believe in truth that I am jealous that I can’t express myself as well as her. Day by day is spent to make you proud, but it can’t be done; a one track mind’s marriage to a 24/7 bi-polar disorder. A match made in Heaven – a Heaven in which I can’t escape because of my loneliness as bars. And when everything goes to shit – I pour my heart out to a girl that stabs me in the back.

How am I so stupid? Now I sound like my mother. Slowly but surely I’m becoming my parents when they used to try so hard to keep me away from that fate. I need to fix my life but I’m too scared of the repercussions of facing confrontation.

I hate holidays. Just another glimpse of me. Family = obligated happiness. Violence lost? I’ve stuffed my rage in a storage room somewhere in the back of my mind. The old me loved raw carnage, the old me was a violent prick. The old me didn’t give a shit about anything but myself. I was %100 black sheep.

Years have passed and I am at a loss for words of how I’ve changed. I have feelings. I’m not violent. I give a shit about almost everyone I know. But lately, I’ve been coming face to face with the old me. So lonely, I want to kill the idea of relationships and have the blood of love on my hands.

Conversation’s fell since the last time you’ve talked to me. Believe me; I’m faded from your memory. I love headaches – a good excuse for why I’m in pain. Motivation lost? There is no motivation to keep me going. My only real motive is to keep people happy. But the people that I help, I can never heal. No matter how hard I try, I can’t.

I applaud singers and writers who can get their feelings out. I stuff mine down until I breakdown. Why am I going by guidelines to make everyone happy when it’s never getting me anywhere? I’m done with infecting myself with everyone else’s wants and needs. When I was little I was told to mind my own business and only worry about me. These are the same people who call you an asshole for going by those codes later on. Hypocritical.

But while putting so much thought into what the others wanted and needed it was like a cancer eating away my very reasons for being happy. I look to my best friend for guidance and companionship while he receives the same treatment from the world.

Tired of life. Tired of people. Tired of Earth. Tired of its inhabitants. Tired of giving away to make me as poor as the people I just made rich used to be. I’m just tired, need sleep.
I need sleep.

 

 

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