I’ve lost track of who I am. Somewhere between ceaseless production and ceaseless
consumption, I’ve become what you always wanted me to be: a piece of flesh for
you to feed on. I don’t remember the exact spot where I lost myself. I can’t find the
exact moment when I vanished; when I turned into a shell of who I am, a shell of who
I’ve searched all the aisles. I’ve tried all the medications. I’ve looked for silence
amidst the chaos. I’ve dove into my traumas, head first, with nothing to lose. I gave it
my all. And yet every answer was a non-answer. Every remedy, a trap. The further I
escape, the closer you pull me in. The more that I resist, the more that you persist.
You’re everywhere and nowhere. You’re all of me and none of me. You consume me
in one hand and feed me with the other. Why do you want me so badly? What is
your obsession with me? Why can’t you let me have myself? What am I to you? Who
am I to you? Who am I? Who?
I looked to you to give me meaning. I looked to you to give me purpose. I begged. I
cried. I threatened to take away my flesh, for my death would be your starvation.
And all this time you stared at me in silent mockery. You moved me without saying a
word. Making my body dance its way back into your arms, burning under your
fingertips, losing oxygen in your embrace. I’ve never felt more alive. I’ve never
wanted to die so badly.
I’ve decided that if I can’t have myself, you won’t have me either. I will make you
watch as I rot to death. I will make sure you remember my last inhale. My last exhale.
The moment my fist opens up in blissful release. The moment where I belong to no
one; not me, not you, not a single soul in this infinite universe. The last moment. My
last moment. My. Mine. Mine.
Go ahead; feast on me while you can. Soon, I shall have my revenge.