When I saw images of Abdul Hajj, I automatically knew he was not a Kenyan cop. There was something about him that told of affluence, a man who gyms in a proper facility and eats well.
Tagged in: Despair
The man laughs maniacally as he hits the keyboard and stares at the screen. He is killing them and he loves it, or rather, he cant control himself. The urges. They will never catch him, he kills as he wills, and they can do nothing about it. They are born when he says they are born, and they die when his whims desire. Except for that wretched editor. He tricks them into situations where they are sure to die, dangling on a cliff begging for dear life. They are his small ant farm.
Social media only features on our daily plate of bad places to hate on each other because it is sexy.
Once I regained my composure, I realized that there is nothing like the moment you realise something you value is gone.
Before I open this discourse, I will give anyone reading this fair warning that emotions and blatant myopia should be left at the door if they cannot be permanently discarded in any exploration about spiritual matters.
I stood at the cliff and looked at the setting sun.
I hurled myself to the hull and let the wind guide my flight.
I drove off the cliff with everything I had.
I stood at the brink of life and death, and held mine in my hands.
I drove the dagger of pain through my own heart and let the blood drip down.
I swore I would never let life show me where, but I did.
I killed myself today, so many times that I could die no more.
I took the gun and shot myself through the mouth.
I pulled the trigger and felt the impact.
I left my own body, and looked at it.
I looked down to my own lifeless self, a mass of nothing but what was.
I enjoyed the sensation, the border between the living and the dead.
I killed myself and looked for a white light, but I saw none.
I ended my life with despair and hanged myself with ropes of failure.
I took success and shit on it.
I took religion and pissed on it.
I took everything I ever believed in and buried it with the dead and dying.
I unplugged my own life support, looked at the white hospital ceiling and waited for the darkness.
It never came.
I killed myself in the hope that humanity would recognize me.
I wanted the world to be less of one person’s problems.
I wanted to free my friends from their penance.
I wanted to make my enemies happy, so I pilloried myself first.
I tied the sturdy rope on my shivering neck and stood on a stool.
I kicked my own life away and got a little hard.
I spit on my own vanity and drank the poison.
I felt despair, I felt failure and I hated the world.
I felt the cold air strike my face as I flew down the tall cliff.
It made my cheeks hard and frozen; I flew like a bird and hoped to be free.
I knew I would relish the opportunity to meet death, but would I like him?
What if it was a she?
Would she like me? Why would she, I had given myself to her, like a fool.
I am dead because I killed myself, but I have been waiting, and there is still no white light….just a dark cloudy and gloomy sky…