On
my
deathbed,
I hope that I am visited by
what I think are angels
or demons
(it doesn’t really matter which)
and,
as I wheeze out my last breath,
they reveal to me
that I was actually an alien
from another world
trapped
in the misshapen body of a human
for the entirety
of my existence—
all 28,000-or-so
days of it.
Because
then,
my role in
this whole charade
would finally make sense:
all of the mind-numbing
awkwardness
and suffering
and bullying
and incomprehensibility
of the world
laid out before me—
a picnic for a malnourished soul
to finally feast upon,
a glistening Colorado River to drink from
and,
at long last,
to rest beside.
Jul 23, 2017
Jul 23, 2017 at 3:13 AM UTC
On
my
deathbed,
I hope that I am visited by
what I think are angels
or demons
(it doesn’t really matter which)
and,
as I wheeze out my last breath,
they reveal to me
that I was actually an alien
from another world
trapped
in the misshapen body of a human
for the entirety
of my existence—
all 28,000-or-so
days of it.
Because
then,
my role in
this whole charade
would finally make sense:
all of the mind-numbing
awkwardness
and suffering
and bullying
and incomprehensibility
of the world
laid out before me—
a picnic for a malnourished soul
to finally feast upon,
a glistening Colorado River to drink from
and,
at long last,
to rest beside.
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