watch me die

what do you call a nightmare that occurs to you during the day? daymare? sounds perfect. anyway, i just had one, would you like to listen

it's nothing unusual, what else could it be? of course it's about death. i dream of my own death, a death that i am deciding for myself. suicide. not by stupid car accident or stupid cancer or stupid tumor and diabetes. suicide, man. suicide. i decide on my own death, i am as free as a man could get.

but, hold on, i am not even young, i am something preceding my youth. i have not enough of life yet, i need more of it. (where are you, gist?) but you never take me seriously, you sniff my swimsuit and say, "you didn't swim." i should've asked you to rub my hair or toenails because they all reek of chlorine. but nevermind. i will never trust people who cannot trust anymore.

anyway, in this dream, or shall i start calling it daymare, i reach for the knife. a regular knife, nothing outshining the sun. my grip steady, firm, no longer intimidated by the still air and sound. watch me, i say, watch.

the tip of the knife, sharp like demon's wit, begins making its way to my left wrist--alas i'm righthanded--slicing the epidermis, and then more flesh, like peeling an apple. i do not feel anything, but the blood is dripping. dripping off the tip of the knife, the pale skin of my wrist, with blood pumped from all over my body to fix the leak. and you watch me with my knife and my blood and my terrible gash. but you don't move.

you people, i scream at you but nothing comes out of my lungs. you are letting me die. this is not how it's supposed to be, not like my usual dreams and reveries. you want me to die. i dream of dying and nobody is trying to stop me. you watch the painful pink and thick red the shade of your mac lipstick and you watch me wither away, die, die, die. my soul ebbs away and you feel good about it.

humanity disappoints me.