January 12, 2013

        It's a foggy day to be walking along the avenue, alone. But there he strolls, alone. Not alone-alone, more existentially so. Everybody is nobody. His friends aren't friends. His shoes no longer squeak when he walks. He isn't one to wallow. The village weeps for his sorrows and pays forthright in blood. It trickles down the street unnoticed. Nobody looks but everybody knows its there. Nobody asks but everybody knows who put it there. Why don't they ask? Perhaps they feel guilty. Guilty, because they took it all away. Took it all away from him. They were hungry, so at one time they hoisted him up, created a gash, and lapped his spirit all up like thirsting dogs. They couldn't sleep, so they locked him in a cage and made him sing, serenading into the night. When they couldn't g   see, they set him alight, and when they couldn't breathe they took his breathe right away. And now, they don't need him. But he is in wanting. It's going to happen again, it'll happen tonight. He'll take another and another to make himself feel alright. He checks the time on his watch but he can't see anything because time has stopped existing. The Sun will never come up again because it too has stopped existing. Without the light of the Sun, he can't be sure the moon is even still there. It's gotten quite cold but he feels quite warm. Tonight's the night, and it's not ever going to end.

So What

Don't tell me. 

So what. 

Who are you, even?

Polluting my narrative,

When all I want is to love,

All I want is to love. 

You tell me,

No.