The last words
I am tired...
The days go by and I barely notice them...
The hours seem long but in a heartbeat it is a whole new week, a whole new month, a whole new year...
The silence of my solitude drove me insane and ultimately numb...
I could kick a stone as hard as I could and I wouldn't feel a thing...
I could trace the path of my veins with the edge of a dagger and only see the red that would escape.
The source of life only as a reminder of color...
I move to my balcony and look outside at the people walking in the streets...
Little ants, always running in search of something. Family, work, money, sex, success...
I imagine myself laying in the floor on one of those streets near death and I see all those faces and feelings I am no longer able to express or feel. Disgust, pity, horror, judgement, sadness...
Maybe today I could jump...
Who would miss me anyway?
Yes, maybe one last act of impulsivity to be able to feel...
Feel through the eyes of the little ants, how wonderful that would be...
*
"Vehicle 49, we have a jumper on 3rd Street"
The radio squeaks and the words came out automatically, not the first I had to communicate it.
The city is brutal and without mercy.
People give up every day and I am but a spectator to all the gore.
Everything is unchangeable, immutable and hopeless. How I wish I was numb to the violence, numb to the world around me.
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