Plagued with bitterness. Death to my heart. Black confessions. Strawberries all eventually turn, rotting for the better. I tremble with fear; I shake violently. Steady hands I have not. I close my eyes for it all to end. Teeth chattering. Eyes roll back. I convulsive harder. I attempt to grip my bed. I fall off and lay face down. The cracks in the floor are filled with odds and ends; dust, crumbs and fingernails. I realize that I'm laying in my own blood. It's getting colder. The lights are out and I can not move. Tears roll down my cheek. Warm thoughts fill my head. I find the energy to move. I crawl into the next room. Do I really hate this life? Do I have the desire to let my blood cover the rug? I relieve myself of me. The white rug soaks up the enriched offering. I lay still listening for the wailing sirens and crying mothers. Staring at the ceiling I realize that this is for the worst. People rushing in and packing me up into the back of an ambulance. The flashing lights hurt my eyes. What's the rush for anyway? Since when did I become so important? We finally arrive. I'm raced around the building, finding a white room all of my very own. I 'm not alone, but no smiles in the room. They find the slivers in my arms, out of them pouring is my life. Back home the white rug is now red. I lay like a slab of meat on a butcher's table. Green masked bandits steal my vital organs. They are on hold for some of the "worthy" citizen. It's OK, I didn't want to live this life anyway. Why is this life worth living for? Distractions, problems, idiots, things left for dead. Removal begins.
A white light appears. I'm raised in the air. Whiteness and purity surround me. Majestic sounds fill the air. I 'm brought to the almighty table. The council votes. The spited soul loses. I'm rejected. I 'm thrown, downward to the purgatory of hell. Enraged, infuriated, I wander aimlessly the vast area called hell. Much better then than I thought. Life is meaningless and never meant to have gone this far. Stifled with complexity. everything takes on a new view. Slightly tainted. Slightly stained. Loss in words and moving pictures. Things fill my head. Voids draw blanks. I draw ideas.
From where does this all come? It's comes from the bleeding wounds in my arms. I'm engulfed into the earth. The ground swallows me up. I end. The game is over. People throw flowers and the procession drives by. I too, like the strawberries, must rot. I turn and feed mother earth. Whether or not she wants me, she must take me. Finally someone will take me. I join the countless others who have come before me.
Curiosity killed me.. I was only searching for myself...
Note:
This column is about a very depressed writer...
