i don’t know what’s going on.
Everything is recycling itself into a horrible nightmare.

What we must determine is the cause…
what caused my death?
Was it because I began to think of God as
nothing more than a humanistic ideal that transcends time and space?
Or was it because i needed to become carnal, of the flesh…
Maybe the compilation of both caused me to die.

i was told that i would die early on…
The news of my death was apparent in the words of my classmates,
and they loved it – waiting for that fateful day.
for i had never before had the chance to feel.

Over time, the wound healed itself…
but it healed wrongly, twisted…
And so, my mutated life started with my death.

i occasionally had bouts with my infliction,
but i never ran for help,
at least i can’t remember if i did.

And now, after roughly a decade of knowing what i did,
i came to the conclusion that i have to seek help…
For me, the only way to get that attention was to…
go to college and try to experience life.
i had always taken comfort in that i was different from them;
i was smart,
but when i reached college, i was quickly put in my place,
among the others of my world.

My motivation was non-existent, i didn’t know why.
Unless, it was the fact that i hadn’t been alive,
hadn’t known what it was like to feel,
hadn’t known my soul.

Going to college, everyone else was doing it,
but most of them had some connection with themselves.
The ones that didn’t, ended up like me, or worse.
Attending college and going to college is two different things…
the first is demanding, motivating; while the latter,
Old wounds ripping open,
all so damaging.

By not being what i had already pretended to be,
i got the attention, but no help, no lasting help…
my grades dropped astronomically, causing me even more grief…
What if no one was listening? What if no one cared?

The most life threatening factor has to be the opposite sex.
Females can be so cold in their rejection or in their silence.
Of course, the silence is the stealthful killer,
Except when the girls show complete disgust, near revulsion,
whether or not the girl is knowing…
picking up on that small almost forgotten fact –
that you are dying.

They choose their weapon, wisely or frivolously,
it matters not.
Whatever form of pain they choose,
there is NO resistance to assemble.

the manboy is doomed.
Doomed from the start, never equipped for battle…
the manboy succumbs to the vile ways of the flesh,
but never knows the way to the heart.

© 1990 David Carroll. All rights reserved.