Faceless Faithless

The blur of colors tire my eyes as I try to find the slightly perceptible differences between the shreds of everything thrown on the cold asphalt. I look away from the window and curl my body holding my two legs between my arms. Rocking back and forth, hope is lost that sleep shall ever meet my eyes. I’m crouching and crying. I’m sucking my thumb, I’m not a baby, but I wish I could regress to that form.

I tried to take hold of the air, but it slipped away. I tried to hold on to water but it held me prisoner to that state when you are drowning and not dying. Melting between two states, you are neither liquid nor gas. You pray you are something. You pray you are anything. You pray to have a name and a scent. You pray for the shadows you lost.

The car stops. So, this is my station?

I let my legs wander to wherever the complex chaos of life bigger than being takes them.  And I stop. Halfway to nowhere, I stop. I am out of myself, questioning my name, marveling at my skin, loathing this person I must’ve become somehow, somewhere, without noticing. I see a sea ahead of me again. I push myself away, but its water runs within my veins. Past sins condense falling on my head like edgy stones taking away with them a thousand faces I once recognized as my own. And, I stand, faceless. I search within the walls of my soul and though I always believed, I’m faithless.  

Life is there. Life I once had and never knew but from others’. “oh you were so quiet”, “You’d never stop walking” “you were never sociable”  “you……you……you….” I lose tracks of the words and create my own.

When people talk about how much freedom is the heart of their lives, they are lying. Hearts are imprisoned in rib cages and souls in bodies. Brains are within the bones of a skull and being is in the rigid walls of a womb.  And they, when their eyes are outside their heads looking at themselves, all they see is a flower withering away within a transparent bell jar, sacrificing its scent for passers by. I rethink prisons. Prisons are for protection.

I approach a knife, at first, I gingerly hold it. Then, all the fear within my heart dies. Pythagoras said that a musical connection ties the universe together. I always played a violin alone. Even when the melodies life played weren’t the same, I always played a violin alone. And now, life wants to expel me. I plug my headphones into my ears, those are the last words I ever heard, “ Watch our souls fade away a our bodies crumble down, don’t be afraid, I will take the blow for you” and my last thoughts are about what Sartre referred to as sweet death, when a bee sinks in a honey jar. I feel this final release and I think…..

Prisons are for protection, but turns out I don’t wanna be protected after all.

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