dark. dank. dull.

Jack Tait wakes up and looks to the sky.  it is dark, dank, and dull.  another failed suicide attempt.  he is bleeding profusely from his hairy ear and wonders where his bottle of jack has disappeared to.  his last recollection before the bullet grazed his ear was that of him and his dad swimming in toogood pond.  he touches his bleeding ear and laughs.  the laughter quickly turning to tears.  he is now sixty one years old and has no family left.  no friends left.  no enemies left.  he literally is a man of nothingness.  his twenties were wasted with the bottle.  his thirties were wasted with the bottle.  his forties were wasted with anger.  his fifties wasted with guilt.  and his sixties are now filled with regret.  he still remembers his grade one teacher at St. Bonaventure but that was a long time ago.
  Jact Tait no longer has dreams.  no longer has aspirations.  he wants to die but death doesn’t want him.  torture once again.  “phonies.  fakes.  filthy rich.  filthy fluff.  fluffy people and fluffy acts.  a world filled with the wrong people and the wrong message.  the world is won by assholes and maggots.  heartless bastards that would stab their own daughter for a dime.  FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU…YOU ARE ALL DULL.  FOLLOWING RULES THAT WERE MADE A THOUSAND YEARS AGO.  FUCKING FOLLOWERS OF FUCKED UP FLUFF!!!”
  Jack Tait won’t die.  ever.