As the quixotic dagger cleaved my frail sternum, my rensid castle of 24 bones fell upon the lively spleen. I coughed up ichor and gulped it again just to confirm the reality of life. The beeping of the holter meter is getting on my nerves. I mean, what's the rush, just let me be in privacy. The last thing i remember before shutting my eyes down, the fuckin' pain of needles. Needles piercing every nerve fibre of my body. And then shhhhhhh, down goes moloch into the trench called sagacity.
Whatever happened after, i don't know anything about it. I woke up and found myself shackled with wires and monitors and what not. My face grinned knowingly that the escape is not that easy. My medications kept me from indulging with the sweet pain of rationality. Several new things greeted my glorious state of pity. I can't breathe freely now. My hands have become cesspit of salts and solutions. Just go on, from daylight to dusk, just inject this and that and this. I can't cry, since my front should be game tight, apparently.
Finally, the day of my demise has arrived. I knew something was odd with everything. The morning suddenly gracing me with warmth. The doctor for the first time, asking me about my likes and dislikes. I smiled about the fact that death is not the greatest loss. I skipped my medications for the day. I woke up at midnight, somehow settled myself and recited the last song of aliveness. The nurse tucked me again, but little did she know that it will only bring her sorrow tomorrow morning.
I died sleeping with my memories. Memories of pain, happiness, heartbreak and atonement. Death is not the greatest loss, that part is true of course. But, what died along me isn't the worst loss either. The inability to comfort the crying souls of those who felt responsible for it, that's the extensive loss of death.
That's it, this is everything about damnation. Death is the only grudge, beautiful enough to cherish, yet as chaotic as sanity. I learned a valuable lesson that day, as the nightmare ended. Here's to demise, fuck off.
This world has unspoken things. Some love confessions, some soft expectations, some dreams and fantasies. All left unsaid. But me? My anger has been left unsaid. I never said 'fuck off' to you when I felt that way. I kindly requested you to leave. I stopped my thoughts, carved them and I sand off the sharp edges. I wrote a letter and put a stamp on it. I never showed you how angry I was. Never threw pots and pans or raised my hands like you did. I just closed the doors. And yet again you came, breaking my doors, invading my space and my peace of mind with it. I now say it to you... FUCK OFF!
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