Pencils, Dust, and Imperfection

Pulling out of this reality is where I knew I had been taken. And I was angry. So very angry, and nothing could nurse the rage back to happiness.

I was a strung-out sonuvabitch.

I broke the guitar strings from playing so hard. My fingers were sore and bleeding, but I didn't mind.

Nothing sounded right, so I unplugged the amp. I was tempted to strangle myself for some reason. I didn't and I don't know why.

I was confused in sensible way.

I walked out of the den and into my bedroom, passing the wife without giving a kiss. The kids were gone. I was here. Here in a big house full of emptiness.

"Billie Joe?" a voice asked.

I looked up, wondering who was talking to who.

The wife stared at me intently. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah," I said, but she walked over anyway.

"Oh, my God, Billie," she said quickly in a dissatisfied tone. I looked up at her, wondering why she was upset, but she softly took ahold of my wrist , showing me my own bloody fingers.

"What did you do?" she questioned as she grabbed a few tissues on a nearby desk and tried to suppressed the red gunk.

"Guitar," I muttered.

She looked at me, displeased. "How hard do you have to play for your fingers to bleed this bad? Are you crazy?"

I blew her off by turning away and pulling my bloody fingers away from her handful of tissues.

"Billie?" she asked, her voice strained with worry. "Are you sure you're alright?" she inquired again.

I didn't respond and she took a step towards me and touched my shoulder.

I slapped her. Right across the face.

Once her head ricocheted back in my direction, she stared at me with shocked and frightened eyes. Her cheek was rosy red and I could almost feel the sting she deserved.

"Don't touch me," I added bitterly.

She continued to stare at me, and I just stared back. Long seconds went by and all I wanted was a cigarette. I didn't care about what she had to say or what she was going to do. Her hurt expression had no effect on me.

"You bastard," she muttered tearfully as she quickly left the bedroom. The door shut behind her and I stood.

I really wanted a cigarette.

I stepped out of the room and she was already nowhere to be found. I heard the car start. I wondered where she was going, but suddenly realized that I didn't care.

I walked out onto the patio with a new pack of cigarettes. One lead to four, until I eventually chain-smoked them all. My mouth was thick with a raunchy taste, but I enjoyed it. The nicotine blazed through me, and it felt as sweet as poison.

I looked out into the open, but didn't admire the scenery. I could see all of San Francisco, but does it matter? The piece of shit never did any good for me, so why would I want to wake up to the sight of it every morning?

I tossed the empty pack of cancer sticks onto the patio, littering. The sun drenched me with sweat until body odor was all I could smell. The slightest hint of sweetness disappeared underneath the stupid hot sun.

Why would you hit Adrienne?

My eyes narrowed, and I looked around, unsure of what was going on.

I'm talking to you; Billie Joe.

She was just trying to help you.

I don't need help.

You're hearing voices and abusing women.

Those are definite incidents that cry for help.

Get of my head.

It's my head, and I'm not leaving.

Then I'll leave.

And go where?

You'll just flee to the back of my prefrontal cortex and come back when you decide to fuck things up.

She's the person who's going to fuck things up.

I'm the party in your brain, she's the pisser.

She's trying to protect me.

From what - war, robbery, genocide?

Call homeland security.

She's trying to protect me from you.

You want to destroy me.

I only want to destroy her.

But she's guiding me.

Do you want to destroy my only light in the darkness?

Yes.

My eyes opened. I didn't know if I had been dreaming or just blinking. I had a terrible headache, and my fingers hurt like hell. I looked down and silently gasped when I noticed my fingers were bleeding.

I looked around, not knowing why I was on the patio. The last thing I remember was writing a song...and now I'm outside and my fingers are bleeding.

I went inside and grabbed a tissue, but the bleeding had basically stopped. I checked the clock and it read almost 3 in the afternoon. The last I remember, it was noon.

I lost 3 hours of my day.

I knew Joey and Jakob were at school, but I didn't know where Adrienne was. Today was supposed to be our day together, and she had left somewhere. She didn't even leave a note like she usually did.

Adrienne's lack of a presence wasn't bothering me as much as the dried blood on my fingers and the fact that I had no idea how it got there.