A Dead Man

I am a dead man. A dead man sitting in the light walking, talking, a sounding board for all that I see. And I see it all. I am not thinking feeling truth, I’m a reflection, an echo of something long gone, that I can only get back in my dreams. I came to love the waking dreams for the gifts they gave me, the, fairy voices giving thoughts to the deceased. I love them still for the courage they can give rotting grey matter, the momentum that they grant to old, charred bone, the sanity they take away and leave behind in equal measure. They say I’m not mad but... I don’t understand, I want to hurt, harm, I want to kill and rape and plunder, and I know, I KNOW they cannot stop me, those who call me sane. Not if I moved, because what I want I get, if I want it enough, it’s not conceit or ego that makes me say that any more than it is to say the sun shines upon me. It shines for all of you, too. It shines for everyone who sees it, whose eyes aren’t cast down upon the snow blinded by it’s brilliant reflection, and really, who can’t blind with brilliance? I see a hundred devastated people, their bodies thin, their distended stomachs bulging obscenely, and I don’t forget. I can’t forget, I’ll never forget the people I’ve seen die, the people I watched myself kill. It was all my imagination. Sure. That was ALL, like it isn’t EVERYTHING like this world isn’t a fiction in which every bit of poetic license isn’t punished! Let’s just ignore what happened to it. Let’s just leave out the truth, because the truth IS fiction! That’s what truth is, it’s the lie that everyone, even me, even worthless, infinitesimal me forgot! The goddamn truth was just a trick! And if the smallest cannot remember, who can?

The bigger you are, the more you have your eyes on, the larger the scale of the world around you, you who can’t see the electrons dance before your eyes! You who fail to see the patterns of the universe, who forget history and repeat it, again, and again, and again. What do you see that I don’t? What do you see that I, to whom the smallest of quarks is as the largest of stars, see that I can’t? do you see the bigger picture? Do you see the world, filled with wonders, and joy, and pain? I cannot. This world, as great it is, I cannot see it. I cannot see the forest for the trees, nor the ocean for the teardrops, nor the sky for all the air. I cannot see the grass for the ground it grows from, or the carbon it is crafted of, nor the water it produces and uses for it’s own gain. I am an unauthorized presence, an interloper from somewhere far less complex, and so needing much greater depth of sight.

I am a child, grown tall, and strong, and afraid of this power within me, for once I broke toys, but what could I break now? Trees? Mountains? People? Off my leash what could I do? What would occur, were I let loose with my brethren, those hounds of war? What might happen, were I to mount a pale horse, and become unto death, destroyer of universes? How would I stop myself then? How would I make myself halt, and take only what was given freely then? I can barely stop myself now.