Diary of a non-man

And in the choice of life and death, I am a pendulum choosing nothing – just lingering.


I want to walk away–
but my feet listen to me no longer. It’s 
grieving the steps I probably didn’t take. 
Lingering for choices had never been this harder, 
as for the absolute extremities of my own, 
the eyes that wept in desolation, 
wishing for existence to fade away, 
the whiskey that washed my fears
of death, and the indifference that made me wish
for it. 
I no longer feel a human, 
perhaps borrowing art from artists and soul from life
made me a heinous entity whose crime 
was wanting a will to live; 
this entity deserves nothing, or perhaps 
the idea of nothing. But
in the tattoos and music taste, a bitter taste of coffee lingers, 
a predicament, even, 
of a wish the entity seems to rehabilitate upon. This entity 
is a nuisance, a bruise. This entity is just absence. Yet, 
it acts as if it trusts itself. 
There’s so much selfishness in this entity. The mere act of existing
amidst a sullen reality 
as if the wait for death is something courageous, 
the disgust I house for this entity in my bones, 
the moments of it standing across from me with its deliberate ideas
that mean nothing more than a criminal identity 
reeking of melancholy, of hope. A substrate of a monster;
it shouldn’t be allowed happiness. The mimic absurdity
it proudly saves, condemns emotions as if craving for them somehow,
the bitterness in its existence, 
I guess it now makes sense why I like my coffee black. 
 

Comments

  1. AnonymousOctober 12, 2025 at 7:21 PM


    Life is a flight of Icarus ,if you fly high sun will eat you, low ocean will beat you ,just linger somewhere in the middle and keep on thriving

    ReplyDelete

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