Poison

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Or with … everything. Is it the poison? Is it the poison seeping into me? Am I mad? I think I might be. I think it drives you mad, the poison. I think I’m going mad.

Help me – someone help me. I can’t live like this. I can’t live like this. With these thoughts. Every day. I can’t think this way. Who’s let me think this way? What’s wrong? What’s so wrong?

It isn’t just me. It’s everything. It’s the whole universe. Everything’s bad. It’s gone bad. It runs with poison. And evil. Everything. Every cell, every atom. Every tiniest thing. The tiniest part of ever tiny things.

 

And I’m destroyed. I’m a demolished … person. I can’t find my way out of the lies. I can’t make my way out. I can’t speak – in my own name. Because my own name is a lie, too. Because I can’t use it: my own name.

And if I weep, they aren’t my tears. You don’t realise – none of you – how demonic this is. You don’t understand what’s invaded us. That there is no escape. Even escape is its escape.

 

Am I going mad? Am I? Is this what’s madness is like?

 

And I can’t talk of this. I can’t say a word – not a word. And I can’t kneel – because it’s kneeling inside me. For me. It kneels in my place. And I can’t pray, because it would pray in my place. And use my words. And use my life.

 

I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know what’s in my hands. I don’t know what to say. What words to use. What signs to make. I don’t know … I don’t know anything.

 

When I wake up, it’s from the bottom of the world. The lowest possible place. I wake up from the abyss. I wake up in the grave of everything. I wake up from death.

I begin with death and end up with death. I wake dead and sleep dead. And I can’t escape it. And it’s heavy – so heavy. And it’s crushing. And I’m heavy with death.