I don't hope

This is a time i'm seeing a lot of new stuff, drinking too much cherry beers on that brown couch, abstract paintings are hung to the walls, some made with a myriad of quick and short paintbrush strokes, white, blue, grey, black, in all directions, watching it i feel i'm under a pouring rain, depressed and wet to the bones.
It's a nice appartment, the owner is kind of a twist between an artist and an athlete, abstract painting and 800 meters races define her hobbies, a step machine is lost in a corner, she hardly ever used it she confessed,
i'm eating more aperitif cocktail biscuits, opening my second packet, souffléed goatcheese is tasty,
all the rooms are so neat and clean, and with my feasting i'm starting to mess up the short but wide dark wooden table in front of me, i haven't noticed but the couch and that table are matching, oh!, as well as the set of drawers on the back, two tiny colored lamps are hidden on each sides of the tv, it gives a cozy atmosphere to that dining room, we feel like in the womb of our mothers, a faded pink and orange are reflected on the immaculate white walls,
i changed my threadbare t-shirt for a brand new skin tight shirt, what for?!,
we isolate on the balcony, first floor, to smoke, no not me, but that skiny one, i isolate to inhale deeply the freshness of the night, watch the neighborhood teenage girls in tight jeans passing in the street ahead, side by side, giggling, probably en route to some party, i'm not partying but i sure am kind of drunk, and stuffed too!!,
oh it's not much, i wish it really had an effect, but i'm also controlling this so well that i manage to keep a sweet composure and a sharp clarity of the mind, there was a time it made be bond with strangers, we felt pals for the time the high lasted, what a bore, they were mainly all so unfitting to me, or maybe i was the one unfitting in that scheme, and that's what i'm saying, what i'm telling, like a fable, to the person who joined me, elbows leaned on the metallic guarding fence, share our lifes like two newly meeting people do : philosophy, philosophy, theory, theory, story, stories, yeah i can do it, i'm so uselessly proud, annoying,
i'm "interesting", after sobs and dramas, that's what comes out of that throb,
i don't want to ask myself questions about defining what's new, new people, new places, new personalities, new opinions, new judgements, except now i'm able to fly above all that
(for real this time, while before, long ago, i was just making this up, the tormented poet, the decadent dandy, and trying only to convince myself that i was fine to be),
i'm so detached it's scary, "i'm devoided of sentiments", that's what i say when i want to make Mika cringe, and he is himself so sensitive that he feels right away the urge to argue,
"Stop controling, let it flow, feel it and let it drive you.",
damn my friend but don't you know i'm heartless, don't send me messages cause i reply and send some only when i feel i want, i don't feel guilty over the help you bring me, the money you lend and your intense concern about me,
you all, you hear me,
and those two short messages i got today, it puts me in a dire, i can't reply, oh i have a good reason, but stop igniting stress in me, i told you i can't, so please help me, help me, you all, you world, give me the power to feel and the will to help myself, go, go, go, i must go, i must give everything, i must believe in irrationality, and come back if it's not the way, but maybe i'm already too far in that strict path, no coming back, no turning back my head even a slightest, and i'm alone in the shadow of the valley of death.

--------(to get the truth in those lines, just discard all the negativity, product of a distorted mind, and yeah, i'm so unoriginal)---------

(Here's a little story as i always feel to tell when i'm thinking about reaching away, i could make it plain, it's filled with truth of what happened to me those past days, but a plain description would be boring isn't it, well i won't see any sense to write if i won't make it personally interesting and stylish, oh i could write, yeah i could but it will go nowhere, for a proof my initial thought was, "this is a time i would be glad to meet you, [to talk about what we're becoming, and much more], pointless like i said, but where all that goes, that verve, that enlivened imagery, it goes there, through a wire, and maybe on the other side it just pops and vanishes, creating nothing, stimulating nothing, with zero effect, a mind needs to process it and give it life, suppositions and superstitions, the heart must beat faster and louder, the brain must get hotter, as the cheeks blush, and baby tears clean the vision, the hair on the arms must lift, electrified, the hands must need to grip and scratch and touch the skin anxiously, mess or rearrange the hair, trembling, the lips get stiff, the upper pressed on the downer, or the teeth stick sorely onto the pulp, anything!, anything but something, a reaction, a thought, a craving, a worthy emotion, something that stays somewhere in us and changes us for a little unoticeable part, that's the purpose of sharing, of telling to people who can count in some ways, if there's no spark, then there's no connection, it falls flat, and it dies.)