Tuesday, 21 April 2015


I am Jack.
I am Jack's hands, shaking all the time, never been able to hold anything in my hands, not my life, the people I care for, my job, my family. I've been trembling from years of substance abuse. All these hands can grasp is a bottle. Or a pill. Pills are nice.
I am Jack's bones. Broken from fights, countless of them in bars, brittle from inadequate exposure to daylight.
But what use are bones when there is nothing left to protect?
I am Jack's brain. Never being able to concentrate on a single thing. I'm broken. Migraines keep coming and going, like an old friend,
I am Jack's heart. I pump in and out his fatigued blood, but the fatigue I cannot banish.
Life I cannot support. A broken heart am I.
I am Jack's liver. For years I have been supporting him. I have grown old and weary through years of alcohol being pumped through me.
Booze-fuelled drunkenness does not hide the pain, we found out. 
I am Jack's tired soul. I have been broken. I have been battered. Been shattered, been shaken. I am his complete lack of surprise. I am his vengeance which is directed at himself. I am Jack's cold sweat.
I am Jack's chair. Many a night he sat upon me and completed his tasks. It took him so long to understand the final task which needed to be done.
I am Jack's rope. Tonight Jack is freed.

(Thumbs up if you got the references)

Jack is a weird name.
I hab

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