Unperson

Where do they come from? Where do they go? These hollow-eyed beings that walk the same fucking streets as I day in and day out. Every one of them empty, the same damn way that I am. Always in such a hurry… to get to what? I try to see their position but can’t. I am the UnPerson. I smile and fake politeness when I encounter you on the streets or wherever we may be. When you come into my workplace I smile, fake politeness and nod in agreement at your fucked-up life and your stupid ideas. I was born in a void. I am the UnPerson. I have millions of faces and I will use them all on you for as long as I must. I know I’m horrific in your sight, but have you ever stopped to think of what my eyes see when they look at you? You probably shouldn’t know. I look back and wonder where the years of my life went so damn quickly. I try to recall the things I’ve done since the age of 18 and it feels like a blast to the head. I’ve done a bit of good, and I’ve certainly done my share of bad. I am the UnPerson. Cut to the bone…again. Cut by someone whom I always thought would be there no matter how bad things got. Sliced, ripped, scarred, she probably doesn’t even know. Maybe she does… Life. What a mess I’ve made of it all. I am the UnPerson. You’ve all shaped me into what I am. I stare at pictures of you and long to be there, but my arms aren’t quite long enough. You’ve finally figured out that they probably never will be. Disgusted. The years of depression and heartache make me see more clearly and from your point of view. I know how I feel. I am the UnPerson. Discarded and kicked to the side for things far much better than what I have to offer. I can’t blame you at all. I blame only myself and the choices I’ve made. I think I’m better alone. I can be the person I am without any false pretense of how others think I should be. Still, I wonder why it happens. Things left so unattended. Short time to do what you were put here to do. I still haven’t figured that one out yet. The longer I go, the more I come to know. I’m what’s left of what I was. The longer you suffer and starve, the more you tend to appreciate things. Not only physically, but also in an inner way. When you’re young you ask, “What am I doing here?” As you slouch toward middle age you ask, “What did I do to deserve being here?” I await the next phase of life to tell me something. Honestly, I don’t want to think about it most times. How many hollow faces crawl around like I do? I’m sure there are tons. Look at us. Look at our culture. Not all of us fall for your advertisements, the money and all the other shit that somehow drives you to wake your sorry ass up every day. If this is so, I give up. Just to wake up and deal with you all makes me want to vomit. It has to be done. No getting around it all. American culture has gone and died. There’s a huge, ever-present, droning noise that dwells in my head. It’s called living slow and dying even slower in America. It’s unfortunate. The ultimate annoying drone. The drone of constant, terror-stricken people fueled by lies and news bytes that make them even more retarded than they were in the first place. Not everyone sees this. I am the UnPerson. I’ve stepped down, bowed out (so to speak). I hope it all goes well for you. You’d better find what’s important before your life becomes a pile of wasted wreckage. If you can look your dying grandmother in the eye and tell her things will be fine, you’re a much better liar than I am. I want to scream until my jawbone breaks. I am the UnPerson. Alone and wasted in more ways than one. The unimportant swirl of shit dance is all people seem to know. Maybe it is. I don’t care. Just turn aside if we pass on the street and I will do the same. It’ll be the way we show love to one another. Shattered into a million pieces and not knowing or caring where I go. It’s all I know, all I’ve known. Knowing that someone cares for me makes me ill. I just don’t know how to react to that. I’m certainly a case. I am the UnPerson. People die and so do I, daily. It’s normal to me. People come by and I feel numb to their remarks and actions. I just don’t care. I have enough thought to destroy an army, but no one to hear me. I think it’s better that way. I can only harm myself and make myself sick as opposed to hurting others and making them ill. I’m disgusted beyond recognition. Thrown to the floor and left to wallow in my environment. Waiting… just waiting on the thing that’s going to take me out. I’m watching the clock and that bastard is breathing down my neck. I am the UnPerson.