Supernova

I’m tired of it all: hate, frustration, loneliness, the incessant waiting. Screaming at you is not like yelling underwater, at least sound travels throughout. It’s more like shouting at the universal black matter; no one can hear as words choke in my throat, void of oxygen. Hands clamp around my throat and eyes bulge spilling red under pressure of a shrill noxious voice:

No on can hear you,

and no one cares,

so stop trying and die.

You’re not worthy of conversion.

If your words are let loose to tingle dead ears,

you’d disturb and wake them from their continual slumber.

Perish and explode as a dying star does,

because that is the final light you will see before your eyes.

©privatethoughtsmadepublic. 2017.

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