I cannot fathom what else left there is to say, nor do I plan on ever being audible again.
The eyes burrowed in the skulls of the people I use to know only glower at the remains of my soul.
It is weak, and tries to walk, stand upright, and flee from this place of such a devilish entity.
I only yearn for it's very best.
The minimum that it can receive, now that the protectiveness that was once me is now diminished, decomposed by fleas and ticks.
Thrown away to rot inside the dirty crevices of the lonely and inevitably useless.
My corpse revives it's legs, even though the brain and the rest of it's person isn't all full intact.
It looks at all the happiness it missed, all the love it could of kissed.
It's sullen face, and numbness, can only recollect the regret for just a moment, now it's back to lurking, silently searching for what it has lost;
Faith, love, joy, gratitude and much much more.
Maybe, it doesn't want it back?
All it's ever really given it was heartache, and self attack of the mind.
Doubting, procrastination, forfeiting all liberation.
Someone once told me that the harsher you get, the numbness that fits inside your chest, replacing the beating, the blood, the sensitive flesh, makes you more desirable, unattainable yes, but everyone's crushes at best.
Isn't that what we want most?
Our names scribbled on notebooks, letters left on our front steps?
Neither my corpse nor my mentality understands exactly what the human mind, body wants so feverishly.
We could just be barbaric robots, lusting after sex, and gun powder.
Fucking and shooting, killing and pursuing.
I am so done thinking.
© Copyright 2016 Kathleen Megquier. All rights reserved.
Book / Literary Fiction
Poem / Poetry
Poem / Poetry
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