Saving the world sucks.
As I left your world for the final time, I reluctantly turned back, only to see that flames had engrossed entire cities, and monumental buildings that had once seemed as if they were our gateway to the heavens were reduced to mere debris as if designed by a drunken architect.
Screams. When I’m alone, I drink lakes, rivers and oceans of coffee to keep myself awake. Redbull may give you wings but it doesn’t give me amnesia. I refuse to close my eyes sometimes because their disfigured faces appear and march haphazardly through my memories like a Dio de los Muertos for dreams and hopes that never came to fruition, but are now celebrated as nightmares of death. Their screams visit me in my sleep and aggressively intrude my thoughts and I am helpless in defending myself. Screams from the very souls I tried to save. Lest we forget.
Sometimes I can be in a crowded place amongst friends and family and still feel like I’m alone. This is what it is like to be emotionless, numb, dead. I am the author and protagonist in my own Shakespearean tragedy.
“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time.
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death...
Lifers but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.”
