Roamer
Registered
- Joined
- Jun 21, 2015
- Messages
- 1,651
- Reaction score
- 48
- Points
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The blood running thru my veins smells of paranoia. My mind races. I can feel my pulse and body temperature in my ears. A quick glance to the left reveals nothing. The sweat rolls down the side of my face like rain. I see myself picking up the weight. It is not time yet. I beg for normalcy, but then realize I am a machine. The machine is tired and old. All of the pivot points crack and squeak of rust. More deca, lubricate pivot points. Take another bite of steak. I yearn so much to break the records I set 20 years ago as a young man. Get a drink of milk. Sit back and laugh at my thoughts. I smile, I can feel it in my blood now. Yes, I am down with the sickness. They always ask why. Those who know cant explain it, those who don't cant understand it. I lost my train of thought. Trains are fast. Pick the weight up fast. One smooth motion. I must wait, it is not time. Draw the syringe. Don't waste it. Three ML, 100 mg/ml. It is still not time yet.
The travel is short. I did not take the train. It is but moments away now. The travel is short. Familiar faces I see, some of which are not known to me. The names are still a mystery. They go thru the motions each day. I smile and nod my creation of thought center. My blood is contaminated now. My pupils dilate. I grit my teeth. There is a pretty girl. I have seen her on other days, but she did not ride the train. You must have a ticket for the train. My departure has come and gone. The travel was short. I can feel the blood pumping faster. My body temperature has increased. Heart rate is rapid. Why must I do this? I will never be able to answer. They still stand from the younger years of a strong oak. Untouchable. It is almost time. The next travel is also short...
I sit down. The tren makes my breath short. I smile as the school kids stare at me. I am soaked with sweat. They can see every vein in my body. Quick glance to the right. Nothing there. Only a mirror with a machine on the other side. I ask myself why. I shake my head and stand up. They ask how much. I say 6. It is time. The travel is short, only 10 or 15 steps. I see myself doing it. I stop on the way. Problems ahead. Hands hurt. Chalk. Reminds me of a snowy day. I had drug problems. I look at my weathered hands. They are rough like an asphalt road. I pick up a piece of chalk. I line my hands with it. It is almost time. My heart races. I think of disturbing thoughts. I break it. I breath it in. The ammonia is strong. My pupils dilate. I see it. It is time.
The bar is cold and hard. The steel becomes part of me. My arms are but hangers. I kneel down and wrap my hands around the bar. I tug it. Feels good. The adrenaline is coming. It is time. I start the machine. The weight is heavy. The motor bogs down. Kick in turbo. My whole body shakes. My vision blurs. The pressure is unbearable. I feel the warmth. I taste the blood. My nose is bleeding. I must not stop. The process is repeated. More blood. I see colors and dots. It was time. The time came and went like a short winter day. I smile and wipe the blood from my face. I hear the voices. Good job, you did it. It was time. I pull the lever, the pressure releases. I throw it on the ground. I walk the same 15 steps and sit back down. It was good. The machine is not broken. The school kids are still staring. My wife comes and hugs me and offers a fresh rag. I take it and say thank you. She knows the machine is old.
They look at me again and ask how much. I say six fifty. The machine is warm. It is once again close to time. The machine is tired. It is enough. More drugs.
To be continued...........
The travel is short. I did not take the train. It is but moments away now. The travel is short. Familiar faces I see, some of which are not known to me. The names are still a mystery. They go thru the motions each day. I smile and nod my creation of thought center. My blood is contaminated now. My pupils dilate. I grit my teeth. There is a pretty girl. I have seen her on other days, but she did not ride the train. You must have a ticket for the train. My departure has come and gone. The travel was short. I can feel the blood pumping faster. My body temperature has increased. Heart rate is rapid. Why must I do this? I will never be able to answer. They still stand from the younger years of a strong oak. Untouchable. It is almost time. The next travel is also short...
I sit down. The tren makes my breath short. I smile as the school kids stare at me. I am soaked with sweat. They can see every vein in my body. Quick glance to the right. Nothing there. Only a mirror with a machine on the other side. I ask myself why. I shake my head and stand up. They ask how much. I say 6. It is time. The travel is short, only 10 or 15 steps. I see myself doing it. I stop on the way. Problems ahead. Hands hurt. Chalk. Reminds me of a snowy day. I had drug problems. I look at my weathered hands. They are rough like an asphalt road. I pick up a piece of chalk. I line my hands with it. It is almost time. My heart races. I think of disturbing thoughts. I break it. I breath it in. The ammonia is strong. My pupils dilate. I see it. It is time.
The bar is cold and hard. The steel becomes part of me. My arms are but hangers. I kneel down and wrap my hands around the bar. I tug it. Feels good. The adrenaline is coming. It is time. I start the machine. The weight is heavy. The motor bogs down. Kick in turbo. My whole body shakes. My vision blurs. The pressure is unbearable. I feel the warmth. I taste the blood. My nose is bleeding. I must not stop. The process is repeated. More blood. I see colors and dots. It was time. The time came and went like a short winter day. I smile and wipe the blood from my face. I hear the voices. Good job, you did it. It was time. I pull the lever, the pressure releases. I throw it on the ground. I walk the same 15 steps and sit back down. It was good. The machine is not broken. The school kids are still staring. My wife comes and hugs me and offers a fresh rag. I take it and say thank you. She knows the machine is old.
They look at me again and ask how much. I say six fifty. The machine is warm. It is once again close to time. The machine is tired. It is enough. More drugs.
To be continued...........