|
There
is no feeling, that is the point. In fact it is so empty I cannot recall,
I cannot ever imagine that I felt anything at all. Life is a black hole
sun behind a cloud, voices making no impact... pincushions subtley rejecting
pins. He thinks I do not realise, he thinks I don't notice a thing when
really I am fully omnicscient, all knowing all seeing all dying a painful
public death the moment he washes his hands. I am his guinea-pig, his
Silly Putty, the play-doh of his whims; his experience - only numbers
matter. There is no feeling not even an OUNCE of excitement, anticipation
- just a prostitute, robotic, let's get it over with so I can tell them
about it... words last more than deeds, now I have a badge. Well I won't
let that happen, I refuse to bow yet I know I will because I was born
gutless and weak, giving in to every bent knee, every whine broke my
resolve in two. My sword bearer would not hesitate so, I fall there
and then, a death that kills nothing - nothing
|
