Me or Them?
I sit and write bloodstained words over wrinkled pages in a literary dissection of me to be put on rotting display in a cardboard box for all to see and mangled with all of the finesse of blind butchers. Ravenous cannibals devouring every remembrance of me in the aftermath of my wasted time, drowning my words in selfish tears of regret, sobbing “oh, I wish I knew this part of him while he lived”. Life trips gracelessly onward unwilling to slow down and stop as I ponder who is to blame, me or them, as my loneliness beckons me to remain unwanted in the unquiet shadows of my mind. A vast resource of empty thoughts with clear visions of its own wasteland future, an apocalyptic microcosm inhabited by a solitary, porcelain shell of human indignity keeping visitors at bay with horrific, death shrouds bound to the scarecrow at the gates. The road now traveled to eventually stretch beyond the horizons in all directions to forever keep secret the way back. I race the world to my epitaph still begging the answer of who to blame, me or them, until I finally come to rest under the carelessly positioned granite slab that pins my head beneath to freshly toiled earth, 7 feet deep for good measure, to ensure that I never rise again. Hollow sockets tearfully reflecting on what could have been of times past as in haunting I search for the answer still teasing me, the infinite continuation of wasted efforts to solve what can’t be changed as I lack the wisdom needed to realize it and the serenity to accept it. Me or them?
