Come here and physically drag me out of this horror and the tragedy to come, if you can. I need to be pushed down on my knees and have the gun held to my head. Otherwise I’ll just stay here - entirely passive, too tired to be aggressive - and continue to just sit, letting my life rot away on my king sized bed, within my comfortable walls shrouded in total darkness. The flickering images of fear, terror, desperation and destruction is beamed onto my face, yet I’ll still feel nothing.
I’m not proud to be crunching absentmindedly on nachos and washing away the feelings by slurping from this sweet and bitter bottle of soco & lime. My stomach feels sickened by drinking so much. Will you kiss it and make things all better? Will you do something to make the pain go away? Maybe warm words will suffice. Will you tell me that you’re sorry for my suffering?
I’m appalled. Disturbed. Shocked. Angered. So don’t expect me to move or be moved. Don’t count on me to do anything beyond letting my jaw drop open slightly and my eyes to widen. Instead, I’ll attempt to absolve myself from my crimes. If we ever meet in some alternative reality where the world has been molded into the long awaited melting pot of peace and love, I’ll ask you whether you’ll be able to forgive me.
Will you pardon me for the fact that I couldn’t even be bothered to walk by or come over and kick you in the stomach? But instead I simply sat, stared, munched, and drank? I nurse a mind that’s entirely blank. As blank as this screen will be, when I press standby and switch myself off.
Is that the time? It’s long past the hour for untroubled sleep.