My Suicidal Dream

Copyright, Alanna

I’m dreaming, and I feel like I’m dead. I can see everyone but I can’t touch them, and they can’t touch me. It’s partly peaceful, and partly frustrating. Everything is in black and white, grayish, kind of. And nobody’s happy, and I want to make them smile. Everyone is there; people I barely know, people who used to be my best friends. And every time I close my eyes, I get dizzy. All I see is black, and all I feel is my body spinning. When I open my eyes again, I’m back in the dream. Sometimes I can’t breathe. But I have to wait, I just have to wait for the pain to pass, and eventually, I’ll breathe again. People don’t remember me. A few do, but most don’t. It’s like I was never there. And they can’t remember why I died. And I want to go back, but I can’t. I’m stuck here forever and no matter how long I spend here, no matter how tired I get, I’m still not allowed to leave. I took a gamble and I guess I chose the wrong side. I killed myself because I thought it would be better. And now I see, that either way, I can’t escape. The only way to happiness is through the shallow things in life. The physical wants, and material needs. And nobody understands why, because they’ve only got fragments of the story. So I’m sitting here, floating, rather. Watching the world go by me in hazy shades of brown and grey. And love doesn’t exist, and lies are all that escapes everyone’s lips. And I want to yell and scream, but I won’t, because nobody will hear me. I’m so trapped, claustrophobic in my little world. Watching everyone else come and go, never changing who I am. I stay fourteen forever, I stay here, I stay watching everyone. And nobody will ever understand why. Then I look around, and see everyone else; everyone who did what I did. Everybody’s eyes are open, but their faces are pale and vacant. They’re not digesting what they’re seeing, just kind of waiting there; letting the shock sink in. And as another one comes over to our side we see more, and I start to wonder. Perhaps I could’ve had so much more; if I had simply waited until tomorrow. But it seems like I’m always waiting. And I’m tired of it; exhausted by the fact that every life is wasted. To achieve nothing, to become nothing. We are all a bunch of nobodies, watching the designated heroes do their job. And this is all I see. Every little step every person takes. The repulsion that lies within all beings, the disturbance of their lives. I can peer into their life, but I can’t pull out. We are dead forever, but alive, for so very short a time. Wasted doing nothing. Living for today, forgetting about yesterday, and tomorrow hardly matters.


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