|I hope my demons are prettier than this.|
Last night, I went for a drink at Rapture with Cassie, a friend from work. I've been in the place a lot of times with Regie, Pong, and JV. Last night, I went alone and just waited for Cassie to arrive. As expected he arrived late and it was only then when I started to drink the hard drink I usually have in the joint, Weng weng. We went around to dance but were not able to find a guy to flirt with.
|Weng weng into the room.|
I don't know what's wrong with us, but we really can't get guys in this place. Perhaps we're getting older? I don't think so. There are older guys who go there, and they get someone to get intimate with. It seriously got me wondering. We always go to Rapture with the hope that we'd find a good lay or perhaps our next relationship, but we don't. Sometimes, we find one and lost him. So we go back with the same brand of hope.
While waiting for Cassie to arrive, I was able to finish a poem about it. I likened us, bar-goers to the strobe lights emanating from the black mechanism to the walls. We go around dancing and go back to start, not knowing any better-- just like the disco lights that move in patters then go back to where they start. I went home before 6:00 AM and slept for the most of the day.
|We move as part of an order.|
Right now, as I smoke, I recall things that I did. I was behaved last night. But these post-party thoughts are always associated with embarrassing things I did during these drinking sessions. There were nights when I could've handled the alcohol better. I might have tried groping guys while dancing or touched groins as I pass them by. God, I need a good lay soon. Other crazy things must've happened, but I can't remember them because I was so wasted. I usually wake up the morning or afternoon after with the guilty feeling, realizing the possibility that I might have done more crazy things than I can actually remember.
|Happy colors to hide what actually happened.|
These are the demons in my head. They are regrets for getting drunk and going outside my common sense of wrong and right. Often, I hear them shouting stories and possibilities while I smoke. Sometimes even while I ride the bus on commutes. Their voices are so loud, I had to mutter something audible to people nearby.
|No. I haven't shouted yet.|
I just can't deal with them very well. After a few days or so though, I know they'd pacify and I'd only be hearing them in very rare occasions. Yes, the demons are the voices of regrets, reminders that I once went outside my normal self and did things I'd otherwise won't do sober. The only way to pacify them is accepting that I did them. And somehow, I gradually though, I feel that I am on my way there.
|Hug your demons.|