Feeble pt. 3

I never imagined myself dying in a graceful way, even when I was little. Dying is painful, sad, yet blissful at the same time. It is an act of bravery, I presume. Knowing that you have the full capability to write your own endings, well, if free will is not just a figment of our imagination. If not, perhaps for once God could understand my prayers and just let it be.

I guess I delivered my ‘sorry’ and ‘thank you’ already; changing its meaning to a simple goodbye. I wish I could tell them not to weep out of their selfishness. But frankly I would understand if they do, because I might as well do the same. I hope they could understand my ending. It is hard to keep a positive thoughts when your eyes can only see things in negative. No one should took the blame. I am the culprit after all.

I could no longer feel myself anymore. The song that is playing from the speaker rings too loud I could no longer able to sing along with it. The back of my mind wonders what comes after it. Yet the dark pit of my heart relieved that I would not have to worry about it anymore.

Feeble pt. 2

It feels disappointing to know that this saggy and lumpy bed will be my deathbed in no time. I never imagined it would be this way; a cramped room I rented as a place I choose to die. The last memory that I carry to the afterlife (if it really does exist), is the picturesque small loving room. I polished it, turned it into a loving grace. I even put plants on every corner of it. I never really thought I would be a plant person the way my mother used to be.

Come to think of it, I would not mind to die here. It is my safe place after all. These walls have seen my worst moments, my greatest sins, even my gleeful days. Sometimes it sees me devoting my heart to the Almighty too. If it could, it would laugh, obviously. It is not like I do not believe in It. I just constantly questioning whether It is really there or not. But human hearts, when they are desperate to cry for help, uncertainty is the best answer for them. For life itself is never certain above all.

I should not have thoughts about these right now. These little things might make it even harder to leave. I sure do grow fond of this space. But not enough to stop me from leaving. Come to think of it, nothing and no one is never enough.

Feeble

Everything is going ashtray but everyone has an ego as high as the skyscrapers to care to take the bullet. I should have understand that whatever spit out from their mouths are just some cliché balonies. Besides, what can you get from hanging on words and words only for your dear life?

I should have feel unease of the red stains on my clothes, my body, and the floor. But all I could sense is nothing but ecstasy. My eyes started to see the things that I should not; as if it could not distinguish between what is real and what is not anymore. Maybe it could not. Maybe I could not too.

So, what else can I do to put things back to enthralling arrays? What else can I do to cease my mind to think about fleeing? What else can I do when I quickly discern this cramped place as a good place to succumb?

Samar

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