Can you hear that?
It’s like a super nova of sound.
An explosion, like ghost peppers on my tongue.
There it is again… did you miss it right then?..
I remember now, I saw this once before… that first day I became me.
Huh…I wasn’t expecting it to come again at the end.
The lasts and the firsts, those are the big deal, right?
Oh…I’m told it’s not.
They say the middle is the most important part. The span of days are meant to be used up like a bar of soap, every day you’re better and more prepared until the sliver is so thin it breaks.
But is that what I’ve accomplished? It feels like the time has just melted between my fingers; disintegrated without even a trace.
Too many days were carbon copies of one another and ultimately discarded in my mind. That seriously pisses me off.
No one said shit to me about the crucial points of life. They throw you out there to play a high stakes game with no knowledge of the rules.
Now I find out that I’ve accumulated all the wrong things in life. I didn’t know the damn rules… Utter bullshit.
Are you even fucking hearing me? I’m screaming, but there’s no sound. This ordeal must be farther along than I thought.
You aren’t paying attention and the sobbing is uncomfortable for me to watch.
Crying has always made me uncomfortable, something I never told anyone and now no one will ever know.
I’m just saying that this can’t be totally unexpected. My frail frame and the withered hand you cradle in your own are a testament to my many short years.
I’m just going to go, okay. They want me to come with them and I suppose I’ll follow like a good sheep.
I hope in the next go round they give me some instructions. The bastards…
Painting is The Death Bed by Edvard Munch