An Average Morning

By: Leigh B. Evans

You awaken to the dagger of a noise that feels to implode, beckoning you to join its chaotic embrace in a world cold.

 Now begins the aimless wandering, resisting the desperate pleas of your weary body to embrace tranquility, you fumble with your  synthetic stimulants.

Caffeine and nicotine violently infiltrate your consciousness, coercing the outcry of your restless body to retreat within the recesses of your very hidden bit aware essence.

With a moment or two to spare, you seat yourself in the dim, the serenity of its stillness. Why must tranquility reign supreme just before you go forth to shave precious years off existence?

Motionless, you linger, savoring sips of coffee and inhaling from a cigarette, fixated on a deep corner where walls meet. A desire—a longing to dissolve into the fibers, to meld, prolonging passages of time. To join into the painted surface, surrendering your soul to cheap gypsum.

A second alarm jolts you back to the grim reality of no escape, you forcefully give away twelve hours to obtain a four hours of peace, this illusion of tranquility. You find yourself stagnant, motionless, devoid of progress or ascension. Trapped within existence, you consume bare essentials, sustaining yourself and clinging to survival.

They scream for more of you, urging your toil relentlessly, keep that fixed smile plastered on your face. Suppress your grievances, head down, within the boundaries, and in return, they promise you a sliver of the pie. Comply, and you too can gaze upon the empty human shapes from the high glass windows, peering at the world through a veil of excrement caused by your disconnect.

But a burning keeps that existence away. You persist in this ceaseless pursuit solely to secure shelter and sustenance. Your yearning extends far beyond their limited offerings. You ache for comfort and tranquility, those elusive states of being they steadfastly deny you.

You want nothing but their end. You have become cold and given quickly to anger. Even now, even when you think you’ve rallied against their exploits and extortions, you are exactly where they want you.

You are the empty.