2

     X

     Endless catacombs cluttered with cobwebs and ghosts of the past, hooded by darkness and decay, map out before me as I take a small step. The earth is damp and cold. To think one day I will reunite with it and all its parasites. Wouldn't be too bad of a deal if awareness continued, but the actuality of that is doubtful. Another step brings me no closer to an exit. Behind me bricks create an insufferable blockade. Am I to live my final days secluded in death?

      Unfortunately as shrieking erupts, sending a million shockwaves through my skull, my eyes open and a familiar sight of a chalkboard and decrepit woman in front of it break through the illusion. I knew I was someplace much worse.

      "That's the bell," she announces though such a declaration of the obvious seems daft.

      Rising from my throne of temporary confinement I gather my books and pencils. I made no effort to hurry as waiting for me beyond the paint chipped door is a sea of misery. It often comes in the same form of character assignation and attempts at causing me minor physical distress and perpetrated by the same socially proficient group. People like them are the reason school shootings take place which grew more and more on my conscious as a good idea to implement.

     Xx

     Now as I sit entombed in another room, waiting for the bell to grant me release, I stare at the hypnotic glow of electric mystery and resume weaving words no one will ever read.

     Like an ill guided snowflake

     Falling in May...

...evaporating upon arrival...

     I'll be but a memory

     But before I go I have one wish:

     To stay for one day

     In a world without pain

     Where sorrow never afflicts the sane

     And disease never manifests...

...cancer never digests...

...and failures eventually become a win

      Staring at the screen I grimaced. No words, great or small, brandished me with anything less than abandonment. High caliber word weaving only brought ignorance and again disappointment pegged me. Am I to expect any less from those who gaze upon me with haughtiness and prestige?  My dust covered keyboard deserved better than I; other fingers to stroked its black keys and produce passages favored by the masses

      Patches of sunlight highlighted my fingers as the oscillating fan behind me parted the curtain ever so briefly.  It would have been sweet had it been a summer sun, but winter's grip turned my corner of the world into a icy hell.  For a moment it seemed a pleasant distraction, but my reality broke the illusion as galloping feet reverberated from overhead.

     "My soul is a black hole."