mussichsein
time to leave.
I have two minutes to speak
and one of them, peak
to write a staff in verse
about the entire universe
damn, it won't work
I can only shirk
my impossible task
a mask
I'm here again talking just talking and going on, cluttering up this page, topic, alive, life, taking up space and central processing units and air, the oxygen we all breathe, our eventual decomposition
aerobic respiration
and I want to cry, it's that bad
but i really am tired, really
it's a long process and it's tedious and
drawn-out rather like a slow death by hypothermia
the warm before the chill
sort of like that
i wonder if your appearance was that a moment of warmth before everything ended and the curtains closed once and for all
im not even dead yet and im not sorry
im going to stay here and laugh at you of it
whatever it is
whatever
im not alive im not speakin its just my character
my character speakin
i cant think anymore the noise is too loud
and cant even articulate a question
i thought talkin would help but it didnt
I'm not, certainly.
Or maybe I am. Physically, biologically,
not really.
What is living, really?
I'm tired.
I want to sleep.
Death brings sleep. I want to die.
Really. I mean it.
No.
I just want to sleep.
Sleep and forget.