• Joseph Fulkerson

Throwback # 3

There is a storm raging inside me. There’s a war being fought for the very fabric of my being. I am torn asunder; my soul laid to waste.

The finality of the decisions that I made as a young man hits hard. Like a prize fighter who knows this is his last shot at the title. The decisions that we make so effortlessly in our youth become the taskmasters that rule us for the rest of our lives. The banality of my existence rots me to the core.

The daily routines of the dead.

Zombies ARE real and they have taken over. I am a self-aware zombie. Does that make me alive?

I have been infected with nothingness. I feast on the flesh of my hopes and dreams, choking on the aspirations of my youth. Each step takes me closer to the emptiness of Oblivion. Death is my muse. What is death but the culmination of every wrong decision you’ve made finally catching up with you. You didn’t exercise enough; you didn’t eat healthy, drank and smoke too much…Lived too little.

Life is a leisurely stroll through a minefield. One wrong step will take you there faster than a thousand right ones.

You want to know what resignation is? When one knows he or she can’t do anything to change their circumstances.

How do these people do it?

Years of wasted talent and dreams. Resignation.

Not knowing what to do yet convinced what you’re doing isn’t the right thing.

I am a square peg in a galaxy full of round holes.

Make no mistake, I can fit in. But each corner and edge of who I am must be ground off. “No edges,” they say. "No extreme angles.”

Just smooth curves, that’s what’s nice and proper. All that's left is the hollow core of who I could have been.


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