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- matt maeson; cringe
- half alive; still feel
- bad suns; defeated
there was something different about him. there was something different about the way he walked, he talked, he looked, his mannerisms. he looked aged, years older than what he truly was. he walked with an odd gait, stiff, as if he had been stuck in a freezer like a corpse for so many uncounted hours until he was finally dragged out in an unconscious slump and forced awake by the sounds of screaming. he walked in almost a stumble like he had been screamed at for hours merely centimeters away from his ears causing disorientation. he looked like every single step he would go tumbling down but in a strange sense of juxtaposition he looked like the most steady figure of solidity that existed.
his mannerisms and personality had changed in so many ways. he had once been a soft-spoken man of quiet consideration and selflessness to a fault. he used to be known for giving up everything he had known just for the sake of other people. he used to waste his time listening to everyone's complaints and trivial issues just to see if he could find a suitable answer. it never did seem good enough. nowadays his personality seemed to align quite well with his odd walking pattern. his personality wavering just as much as the smoke from his cigarettes that he now smokes. he was so far from being considerate now as he was a loud, boisterous, reckless fool that tried his best to protect other people by unintentionally dragging them along the wild ride that was his life as everyday he dodged death and took the hits.
he seemed wary in every sense if one looked upon his countenance. he looked confident but so scarily uncertain and doubtful of himself. he seemed like he knew the answer to every question but would never allow anyone else in on the secret. he seemed like some vast pool of knowledge that would never share his knowledge with others like the selfish creatures that had changed him in such a forceful way. every expression he made since then seemed forced. his smiles seemed pained, his frowns seemed like the most genuine expression he could display on his countenance, and the anger that blazed along in his tired eyes seemed to fake like he had nothing else to care about anymore.
he seemed so confident and sure of himself but somehow at the same time he looked like he was ready to curl into himself and sob for hours because of the so obvious self-loathing gleam within his tired eyes. and that wasn't even to mention the faint glare of paranoia in his face and the shaking of his shoulders. every step and movement he makes, every breath he exhales he seems to look over his shoulder like he was being followed. like he was so terrified to face the world as if he believed he was being hunted down for his once glittering pelt.
every word he speaks comes out in almost a slur as it seems like he is more scared of dropping his cigarette than dying ever shook him. he seems more scared of misplacing his lighter as an obvious dependency on cigarettes is visible to even the blindest of eyes. his eyes were hardly visible anymore but the emotions that he displayed through his words were enough to give away what was hiding being his sunglasses and the shadows of his bright poppy red bandanna. sometimes it is possible to see a cigar clenched between his jaws almost as if having a bigger leaf will calm his nerves quicker but he knows that it's not true. other times he'll hide a roach in the folds of his bandanna and light it whenever he thinks nobody is looking. sometimes his acquaintances and friends begin to wonder when he'll begin relying on liquid courage and other drugs of undesirable symptoms.
sometimes people wonder how he can still walk as steadily as he does under the influence of all these awful things. sometimes people wonder how he still hasn't overdosed when he is making it so painfully obvious that he's doing all these awful things to himself. sometimes the expression on his face makes it seem like he wonders how he still hasn't overdosed while under the influence of these drugs. sometimes it seems like he wants to overdose. sometimes it seems like he wants to die. but on other days he seems as bouncy and boisterous as a newborn baby squealing in the night for some unknown antidote to shut it up or just to see it's parents.
he has changed. he's changed in ways that nobody expected. he's selfish but selfless. he's wild and ready to bounce off the walls everyday but at the same time he seems so meek and scared of the world. maybe it's the drugs. maybe it's that he has been to hell and back. he looks like he's ready to protect everyone but keep himself at the top of that list as if he would sacrifice anyone just so he could stay alive. he's like a desperate animal, scared but ready to face the world and his problems all head on. he's like a savage when he tears himself and everyone else apart with his scathing words before he would immediately snap his jaws shut like he said something so wrong. but he would never apologize for it. he seems to think that apologies are for people that are worth his time as he only rarely says the 's' word nowadays.
but he's changed in ways that nobody had imagined from his once young, wide-eyed childish self into a creature that is so obviously fully prepared to tear into someone if he has to. he's changed in ways that nobody ever would've wanted to see and it's difficult to know why he changed. if anyone asked they would never get an answer as he would just look over at them as if they were fools, as if the answer was written as plain as day across his face. perhaps it would stay a secret or perhaps one day he'll crack under the pressure of himself and snap out, spitting out the answer to his development in character. but for now nobody knows and it's possible to wonder that if even he himself knows. but he had changed and nobody expected it and nobody knew why. but whether that change was for better or for worse it still undecided in the eyes of himself.
// 1091 words, 5970 characters