I feel like part of me is already dead, as if my soul has already departed my body. It’s as if I’m no longer piloting the ship, I’m watching from a 3rd person perspective whilst my body is dragged like a broken marionette through the ruins of an empty world that once promised so much.
I used to fight the current frantically like a mad fool determined not to drown, but in my exhaustion l have submitted totally to its flow and now I am pushed like a drowned corpse along its meanders, bloating and rotting in the churn as time takes me piece by piece.
But it doesn’t matter anymore, because what I consider ‘me’ has already gone. I am watching the demise of my body on his solemn walk towards the grave from behind a screen through which sound cannot be heard. I know this because I occasionally feel the urge to pound on it and scream “do something! Turn around before it’s too late!” But then I remember that there is no one at the wheel.
I sink to the floor because I am powerless to do anything but watch from behind the glass, and so there is nothing left to do but wait for the light to fade, or, in one last exercise of will, I could put it out myself.
I used to fight the current frantically like a mad fool determined not to drown, but in my exhaustion l have submitted totally to its flow and now I am pushed like a drowned corpse along its meanders, bloating and rotting in the churn as time takes me piece by piece.
But it doesn’t matter anymore, because what I consider ‘me’ has already gone. I am watching the demise of my body on his solemn walk towards the grave from behind a screen through which sound cannot be heard. I know this because I occasionally feel the urge to pound on it and scream “do something! Turn around before it’s too late!” But then I remember that there is no one at the wheel.
I sink to the floor because I am powerless to do anything but watch from behind the glass, and so there is nothing left to do but wait for the light to fade, or, in one last exercise of will, I could put it out myself.
