Final Words of a Cockroach

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: July 11, 2019

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Submitted: July 11, 2019

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Here I am again, and I do not know what else to write about but dead dreams and silent screams, and I am, here I am again staring at the same screen thinking of the same tired words that never seem to form, and I try to find meaning in this empty wasteland that stretches before me, wishing that I could fill my empty hours with trivial task after trivial task, one motion after another, become a machine just to escape the vastness of freedom, and to occupy the empty corners of my mind with matters that don’t matter, to suffocate beneath the weight of these insignificant tasks the beasts that lie dormant, and then I would no longer have the time to think, no longer see a point in thinking about the pointlessness of it all, and I would then climb all the plateaus that a productive member of society ought to climb, and I would be seen as confident, go-getter, happy, and no one would ever dare make fun of me again, to call me a softie again, and I would finally get the respect that I desire, and acquire the qualities that women look for. 

 

But the dreams are dead. All these words have already been said. It is not in my nature to climb, not in my nature to exude confidence, to stand humbly atop a plateau and inspire others to do the same. I am nothing but a cockroach, soon to be crushed beneath the boots of the same society I strive to be a part of. 

 

And no one shall ever read the words of a cockroach.


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