They're going to tell me to sit and look pretty. "Keep your mouth shut and look innocent," my attorney will say to me as I enter the court house. And I will be forced to fight for a lesser punishment than what I truly deserve.
I want capital punishment. I want brutality. I pray to be hanged or burned at the stake. I don't want to live. But I wouldn't go as far as killing myself, though I thought of it many times. I simply take life for granted, though I try to the best of my abilities not to do so.
But honestly; who goes through life--day in, day out--appreciating every single moment of breath and soul within them? I can't do that. In fact, I feel as though my destiny is to die young. Not because I don't want to live, but because death is meaning. Death is a part of the cycle. And once I have died, perhaps what's left of me, my energy or essence or soul... Perhaps it can touch the lives of others, unifying us, connecting us.
But no. Death will not come to me so soon. My doctor tells me I am healthy and strong. The blood work came out clean. And I have years to go before I stem into the cancerous growth that I am meant to be. What am I saying? I'm already a cancerous growth. I am a parasite, leeching upon the host that is humanity and the people I love so dearly.
And this is why I am doomed. This is why I MUST die young.
I'm going to be told to sit pretty and look innocent and fight a losing battle. I'm going to lie and swallow my own deceit like candy, while the heathen gods and their Zeus judge me, and point their fingers. And why must I fight? I've already lost. But I have no path, no choice, no will. I belong to this system, this country, this order. My law, my emotions, my mind... They mean nothing. They are none existent. I have no say.
Life is in the hands of the heathen gods... And my judgment day is in the month of February.
They don't care to know where I've been. What I've done. What I've seen. What I feel. What I think. Everything happens for a reason and they don't even know that. Yet, they hold my future, my life in their hands.
I am a prisoner. I am a slave. I am trapped without escape. But it was this trap that brought me here in the first place. I am caught in the vicious current of life and I am drowning. I can't escape the cycle. It has me chained by the feet.
I only have faith in my inhalations. I can only have faith in the fact that I will exhale every breath I draw. I trust that I will wake up tomorrow morning. And I trust that I will not die when I walk out the door of my house. But this is all I can believe, because it is possible. Because I feel it. I see it. I hear it.
Uncertainty will be the assassin of my spirit. Already I can feel it; subtly withering away.
Hope is dead.
I want capital punishment. I want brutality. I pray to be hanged or burned at the stake. I don't want to live. But I wouldn't go as far as killing myself, though I thought of it many times. I simply take life for granted, though I try to the best of my abilities not to do so.
But honestly; who goes through life--day in, day out--appreciating every single moment of breath and soul within them? I can't do that. In fact, I feel as though my destiny is to die young. Not because I don't want to live, but because death is meaning. Death is a part of the cycle. And once I have died, perhaps what's left of me, my energy or essence or soul... Perhaps it can touch the lives of others, unifying us, connecting us.
But no. Death will not come to me so soon. My doctor tells me I am healthy and strong. The blood work came out clean. And I have years to go before I stem into the cancerous growth that I am meant to be. What am I saying? I'm already a cancerous growth. I am a parasite, leeching upon the host that is humanity and the people I love so dearly.
And this is why I am doomed. This is why I MUST die young.
I'm going to be told to sit pretty and look innocent and fight a losing battle. I'm going to lie and swallow my own deceit like candy, while the heathen gods and their Zeus judge me, and point their fingers. And why must I fight? I've already lost. But I have no path, no choice, no will. I belong to this system, this country, this order. My law, my emotions, my mind... They mean nothing. They are none existent. I have no say.
Life is in the hands of the heathen gods... And my judgment day is in the month of February.
They don't care to know where I've been. What I've done. What I've seen. What I feel. What I think. Everything happens for a reason and they don't even know that. Yet, they hold my future, my life in their hands.
I am a prisoner. I am a slave. I am trapped without escape. But it was this trap that brought me here in the first place. I am caught in the vicious current of life and I am drowning. I can't escape the cycle. It has me chained by the feet.
I only have faith in my inhalations. I can only have faith in the fact that I will exhale every breath I draw. I trust that I will wake up tomorrow morning. And I trust that I will not die when I walk out the door of my house. But this is all I can believe, because it is possible. Because I feel it. I see it. I hear it.
Uncertainty will be the assassin of my spirit. Already I can feel it; subtly withering away.
Hope is dead.
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