A car speeds down the highway, faster and faster, the lights but a blurred fluorescence lost inside the endless dark. The pitch-blackness so thick it can swallow everything, it can even hide myself.

The darkness that I love, that lets me disappear.

The music pulses louder and louder, equivalent with our glorious speed.

If only I could be so invisible forever, moving so fast as to escape it all, escape even this life maybe. Our velocity far surpassing that of sadness and guilt and love.

The blood stained air slices through me. Such a beautiful and deserved execution, my tragic, grand farewell. I am nothing, I am nowhere, against this backdrop of a blank abyss I am and shall be forever intangible.

I slip through the door painted only for me, and instantly as I leave time all behind, it no longer exists and neither does any of this I’ve known.

My abattoir emancipated, I have found that hinted to me in dreams, as I nearly woke up so many times, yet was impeded by this Earth’s greedy slave hold.

I knew that I was never meant for it, I knew all along.

And yet what was it I ever feared? To leave this loathsome place? Brainwashed by them as well, what did I ever convince myself to see in this? What redemption has it offered yet ripped countless apologies from me?

What beauty has it offered to my lacquered, thaumatrope eyes?

How am I to know its beauty, and they to say I’m not? What is beauty? What makes those fortunate so and those not condemned? Who chooses these titles, these lotteries, these classes?

What collection of atoms, of energies, have sentenced us to be here? Left amidst the rubble of purpose, chanting blindly to ourselves: I must work harder, I must be beautiful, I must have more money, I must earn my way into heaven.

And what are the rewards they reap, the fruit of their dolorous labors?

They wither and die.

They do not know that there’s a heaven. They believe there is, for they’ve been told. They are sure of it, in fact; they become angry with those who have doubted. Their lives toiled away trying to get there, standing in an endless line for admittance, an infinite pilgrimage to a doubtful Mecca.

But they do not know.

My car speeds on. Going nowhere, my car and my music and myself, going forth nowhere, a pulchritudinous nothing.

A weight is lifted from me.

My cross, my burden, my body.

What, after all, is it needed for but this life’s futile deeds?

I have never known such paralleled freedom. Have I ever known any? Could I have even dreamt of such?

Faster and faster, momentously spinning off into vast and vacant space. This unbridled, searched for antiworld, all chains left behind. Leaden chains of shackled regret, of hate, of insanity, of lies, and of love.

A life, no countless, spent, wasted, or perhaps merely lived, looking blindly for keys.

Spray painted eyes, though merciful, sew them open, stitch by stitch. They must see, they have earned this.

Let the blood burn through their apathy, give them sight, hide not behind their laws.

Gaze, stare if they must, unto this state they have created.

Yes, they made this, could it have ever been different there is no answer, it is now the human condition. Forget humane, they have never borne association.

No keys have been buried, they must have burned them, was there any merciful surrender ever meant for this race in the first place.

What do you feel? Have you forgotten how?

It is what grabs hold of you from inside, what pierces your heart, rips open your brain, screams from frantic decibels within each vein, what pulses behind your eyes and burns them, bringing tears.

It is pity you feel, contempt? Perhaps pain, though love is the worst.

I believe they all may crush you, but you will not die, as much as you’d like to, as much as you pray.

That you may suffer in their wake is my goodbye. I feel nothing in my new atmosphere.