I awaken slowly to the dim light of the outside world. It finds its way through the stained blinds of my empty home. My eyes press open as I strain against the wretched brightness of a world that I shun. Another day idly passing.
I sigh reluctantly, pulling the covers from my obese and misshapen form. I slowly reach forward and grasp hold of my only real connection. I can feel the dull agony of time coursing through my hands as I seize hold of my dearest friend.
The desperate ache of fleeting time crawls with a dull agony through my very bones. I power on my sleeping phone. A sense of nothing fills my mind. Relief.
I scroll gently through my inbox. It’s so full of distraction from this empty life. I switch between screens, checking my channel for anything and anyone who can offer me sanctuary from this life I relinquished a long time ago.
I’m getting older. It’s getting more difficult to breathe every day. The ash and soot from decades of smoking spreads in my lungs and sticks rancidly to my black skin. Oh my black skin, I hold it so dear to me. It’s the only thing that really matters to me anymore. I tried to care. I tried to feel for something, anything else, but the only thing left that gives me pride is something I did not even create.
I’m so alone. So tired. I have no children. God damnit, I have no children! I tried so hard, for so many years, but it was all for naught. My entire life, a mindless oblivion of ugliness and despair. A life where my only honor is my insignificant and hollow dark flesh.
Now, as I grow older and ever older every day, I cannot bare the thought of my desolate womb. I will never know the joy of the embrace of my own child. My own blood. I know I am cursed.
As I slowly decay, I bury this curse in my false and trivial pride. I send messages, I record myself speaking. I tell the world of this empty power that is but a shell. Yet, my black shell is fading. If only I could be different, be someone else. Anyone else but who I am!
I have wasted my life and I am dying alone! Yet, I find solace in my hatred of this pale devil. This hate within, I find comfort in it. And so, as I grow older, a dark woman, barren and alone, I know I will die, self-loathing and false pride being all that I own.
Latest posts by Michael Anderson (see all)
- Forbes Censors Conservative Contributor for Criticizing Twitter Trump Ban! - January 12, 2021
- “Forsake Me Not” – A Poem of Loneliness, Loss and Death by Michael Anderson - January 10, 2021
- Dear Oregonians, Bank of America Does NOT Support the Constitution! - December 30, 2020
- The True Oracle of Blackness. - December 30, 2020
- How to Sabotage 3D Printed FAKE Meat in Grocery Stores - December 30, 2020
People Who Read This Have Also Read...