Midnight Desperation

And the last one was a war lost. The memory of it triggers up in every battle and takes me back to the ridiculously naive stupid I was. It just deprives me of any blood in my tissue to feel I am alive. Being trapped is a painful torture that just can't be explained. No amount of books, no numbers if friends, no visit of places heals the wound. It is just so fresh; fresh like a slaughtered pig's torso. My own bed rejects my sleep. The air in me rejects admittance of oxygen in me. I was never aware I will so sick while I was sick. The fever was months ago, but the pipe nd jammed and there's poop everywhere.

Only in the virtual reality I feel like a ballet dancer, like an ice skater, like an ocean surfer. I want to go to places, meet people, see the operas, fall from height, fly up in a parachute. I want to be run into his arms, and be lifted up and lowed down to be kissed as passionately as the only kiss of the life. I want to watch a flick of birds take golf the ground, soaring high and feel myself being liberated of the backhold. I want to toast to my friend's wedding. I want to sit with him under the stars at the edge of a cliff and watch the setting sun. I want to dance in the pool holding his hand laughing to the beautiful sky lit with fireworks. I want to untie my hair and go on a long drive and end up wet in the rain; that's when he takes off my white shirt and kisses my neck.

I want to feel love, be in love.  I want to reciprocate a new love. I want to hug without the fear of being left out. I want to walk in without the fear of being trampled upon. The more the time elapses the more I am convinced of seclusion and tease. All that rarely rainbows as a virtual reality whooshes out in the reality of bloody Mary. And for what? The man who left all his promises and will never make the city liveable again.

Where is the exit? When is the exit?