5 minutes

About 60% of your day is devoted to you being invisible to the world. Imagine what it would be like if you lived austere.

You have 5 minutes to do anything you want – anything, I say. For those 5 minutes nothing and no one is looking at you, and nature has distracted you from acknowledgment of your existence. We’re not using this to fight any crime. What happens in those 5 minutes is who you actually are. My five minutes are suspended in a vitrous void, being released in extended increments like low dose morphine. What you see are just seconds. What I see is you. Do not despair – I am nothing but a simple, average human thriving to live. What I say or do cannot possibly affect you or your sanity, and what you think is not in my realm.

What you see is nothing but unraveling silk. You may never see what lies in the core, as by the time you are half way you will have assumed there is nothing else to search for. But I deceive and lie – and spite me for that – and I cannot tell you who I really am. I can only show you. This happy-go-lucky boy you see is nothing but a mask on top of a mask, on another mask, on another mask.

Why do I bother wearing masks? I rarely ever put them back on after I take them off. There is still much I need to unravel and get rid of as life progresses. Somehow you see it all, but you say nothing. You know there’s something missing – something lingering in a dark room – like I think of you. I’m shedding my skin – I have yet to mature. For many, I had it good, and had it lucky since I hadn’t yet dropped everything I had and ran. I’m a fool that sits in a pool of mercury and acrylic ink, just waiting for something to come. I do not wish to transfer this pain in comfort of myself. I’ll fix my own problems.

Railroad tracks leave voids, like the mind. The world seems to shift aside for an incoming train and all you need to do is look up into the world through glass windows. Take a closer look – you’ll see a lot more you never realised was there the harder you look each time. Make each trip something unknown to you, because you’re never making the same trip twice, whether it’s on a train or on acid.

Time ticks and I wonder what will become of this. Maybe I’m wrong. I’d have no idea. Maybe you’re thinking somewhere else outside of these tracks. Maybe I’ll be petrified. Maybe I’ll be relieved. Whatever the case, the water remains still and flowers still do not bloom.

I wait.