Monster

Being alone is a feeling like no other. And being alone with a secret doesn't help...

 

I stand in my bare room,

Clutching the cold gun,

Forcing its hardness to my temple,

The gun has a purpose,

It’s prepared and knows exactly what to do,

Unlike me,

My finger caresses the trigger,

But I pause,

There is one last thing to do.

 

Alone,

It’s such an interesting word,

Amazing how I can be alone in a crowded room,

How easy it is to simply disappear,

In a fog of people,

In my head,

Or just into the darkness.

 

I spend my nights wondering aimlessly in the streets,

Just walking underneath the world,

Underneath its problems and its faults,

Underneath its endless bullshit,

I walk the street’s course with no destination in mind,

Just walking the streets in rhythm,

Streetlight to streetlight,

Dust to dust.

 

My life is an optical allusion,

With just little pieces out in the world,

Out there for people to see and examine,

To analyze,

But they don’t like the gaps in between,

And they fill in the spaces with whatever they think belongs.

 

My family lives in a house of glass,

People peer inside only seeing what they want,

But I look out longing for what,

Emotion? Freedom? An end?

The conversations are just simple motions and routines,

“How was your day?” is flung careless across the dinner table,

I glance up at the person and feel…nothing,

“Fine” I say back,

And that’s that.

 

 

 

 

Walking up the stairs,

Just another motion,
It’s supposed to be such an easy task,

But it’s not,

My fingers trail along the wood of the railing,

Not feeling for its smoothness, but only for its faults,

I take each step one at a time,

Each step farther away than the one before,

Each step harder to reach.

 

I stand in my bare room,

Clutching the cold gun,

Forcing its hardness to my temple,

The gun has a purpose,

It’s prepared and knows exactly what to do,

Unlike me,

My finger caresses the trigger,

But I pause,

There is one last thing to do.

 

I walk over to the mirror,

Covered by a simple sheet,

I reach tentatively toward the cover,

My fingers grasp the fabric and lets it float to the floor,

Something inside me breaks,

I look at the monster in front of me,

Looking into the dark pits of her eyes,

Trying to glimpse at any form of soul left in this body.

 

I smile at the monster,

And she smiles back,

We both know the secret,

She puts the gun back to her temple,

And I do the same,

Our fingers return to the trigger,

In a synchronized motion,

BANG.

 

 

 

Author's Note

I know the ending is cliche, but cliche is good every now and then.

Reviews

[Zall]

Awesome, and it's impossable to go through life without some cliche. :) Shows that people don't always see what they want and see what they don't want.

[NICOLE]

I love this