6x7 semanas
Discover more from Vic Koopmans
The walls are green, the curtains blue, the ceiling’s yellow, the floor is dark red. A gum ball has been violently murdered in this room before my arrival.
I’m floating somewhere in this poor man’s rainbow, admiring it’s colourful intestines. While I lay still in the sky the room keeps moving.
Flying high, ascended hours ago. Far from terminal, but this might just be the end. I saw straight until this deranged brain took a left turn. Now this mind is racing in circles around a mental roundabout. Imagination turned into hallucinations.
Where the hell am I? Who the hell cares? It feels heavenly. Feelings, as if I’m having those right now. I could give less than half a fuck. Merely the first letter that I’ll happily address to everyone and no one in particular. Do not return to sender.
In my head, out my mind. Lost somewhere in between. I might be, I might not be. Is it being lost when being found is of no importance to oneself whatsoever?
Whatever. The rainbow comes loose and starts painting a picture. Slowly at first, rapidly in a second. Meanwhile I’m creating this abstract image colouring outside of the lines.
So up on downers that coming back to earth lies nowhere in the near future. If the sky is the limit than I’ve been trespassing for a few hours now.
Somewhere out in space I’m defying gravity. I see no galaxy nor shooting stars. Alienated from the world, I’m tiptoeing in the Milky Way. Sipping from its liquid heavenliness every now and then.
There’s knocking on the door. I think there is. A voice that’s supposedly mine says that housekeeping isn’t needed. Renewed silence, or maybe a continuation of it.
My face moves. I might be smiling. I forgot the definition of emotions.
Look how far I’ve come. Overdosing in room 666 in a nameless city. Thousands of miles away from what was once home. no shoulder to cry on but my own. My tears are all dried up luckily. Lucky me.
42 days of painkillers until I overdo it. My phone rings. Reception. Connection. A wake up call.
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