Lines across lines, white and cracked. Dry flakes peeling up, little triangles rough to the touch. A pinch here, a scratch there, a slightly bruised finger crushed during a task. Splashed with chemicals, seared with burns, no time to care for the line awaits. Day in and day out, lifting and scrubbing, all to the beat of “Thank you” and “Have a nice day”.
Scarred and dry, cracked and old, such are the hands of a working gal.
It’s kind of expected, you know. To know that I’m going to hell.
I have it all. They’re all a part of me, perhaps in varying degrees at different times of the day, but they’re always there.
Perhaps it’s a comfort to know that I’m not the only one sinning every day of my life, that in every person I meet, every person I see, they have the same sins as I do. We’re all connected this way, which is bizarre, but it makes me feel a little less alone in the world.
And so I say, Hello, Satan, take me to where I need to be, to wherever you are, because you are me and I am you for we are one and the same. Hell, oh hell, I am living in one now, so how much different could the next one be?
It’s kind of fascinating, you know. To know that you’re going to hell.
I wonder what type of delicious delights I’ll meet down there. Since I’m going down there, hell must be the place to be for people like me. The lustful, the greedy, oh so scrumptious. The smell of our sweat and grime, all mixing together as we burn in close proximity…I almost can’t wait.
You would think that hell would be a punishment to a person like me, but then why do I get so excited (in more ways than one) thinking about it? It won’t be like here, where there are restraints and laws and dire consequences for the thoughts in my mind, but once I’m there, it’s not like there can be any worse punishment awaiting me.
As a matter of fact, I might as well live my life up, devouring the precious smell of skin and flesh, of ecstasy and love, giving myself up to my longing and desire. I mean, I’m going to hell anyways.
I am feeling gray today.
Yes, that is how I feel.
Not a color, but a world
Of only shadows and light,
Although more of the former than the latter.
No distinction or definition,
No lines or barriers,
Just shades of shades
All melding into one.
No time to play,
No place to stay,
When asked, “How do you do?”
I respond, “Very gray, and you?”
I am feeling gray today.
Won’t you color me in for a change?
It’s kind of annoying, you know. To know that you’re going to hell.
Yes, I loved my food. The sugary delights, the scrumptious steak with the sticky A1 sauce, the leafy greens of a salad built into a wonderful house of veggies and fruit…why let it go to waste? You could say that I was doing society a favor, eating what others didn’t want and appreciating all foods of all sizes and flavors. I was promoting non-discrimination.
Hey, if I’m going to hell, at least I’ll burn and roast into a delectable piece of meat.
It’s kind of unsettling, you know. To know that you’re going to hell.
It’s not like I ever got anything that I wanted in life. And yet, here I am, dying among my worthless possessions, headed for an eternity of rot and pain and terror. You could say that my life was already a hell- all the want, desire, the lack of satisfaction. It was painful. Actual hell can’t be much worse, can it?
To desire things…the endless wanting. To say that this is a sin…it’s already a punishment during my lifetime, why am I forced to endure more pain afterwards? It didn’t seem like much at first, but over the years, I’ve come to understand the extent of my condition. Did anybody do anything to stop me? Was anything put in my way to prevent me from being consumed by my consumption, to constrain me from grabbing what is left open to be taken?
Don’t blame this all on me. I’ll take you to hell as well.
It’s hard to be open when your words are locked in your mouth.
It’s hard to be honest when the truth does not want to be heard.
It’s hard to be there when your heart is not.
The rules of society, of relationships, of friendships, of love.
How they bind and oppress,
How they cut and tear.
How am I to embrace when my arms are tied?
How am I to run to you when my feet are burned?
How am I to speak to you when my lips are glued shut?
How am I to support you when the truth comes out if I cannot be there?
My own feet led me to my jail.
My own hands threw away the key.
My own lips kissed the floor in warm acceptance.
How can I try when all there is is to give up?
It’s kind of interesting, you know. To know that you’re going to hell.
It’s not like I’ve done much in my life. I was pushed out of a womb, set to breathing, blinking, living. And now I’m going to die. And I’m going down there.
Sounds fantastic. It’s not like I’ve done much anyways, being the sloth that I am. I was probably going to go to hell anyways.
It’s kind of upsetting, you know. To know that you’re going to hell.
If somebody thinks that I need to control my temper, then they should have said so to my face instead of waiting until I die to tell me that I get a little angry sometimes. It’s not my fault that so many dumb idiots decide to mess with me- they have to know what their place is. Do they think they can push me around and expect me not to react? I will murder them. I will murder them all for all their pranks and tricks, for all their lies and shit. I was born to be better than them- I was born to destroy them.
Such a brilliant blindness, to be overcome by that raging white fire of emotion and have my consciousness completely obliterated. What more can I ask for than vengeance and destruction for those that stand in my way? What power and strength does that blindness give me. I feel indestructible. I feel real.
I am wrathful, so let there be wrath. Let me relish in my power, even if it means I have to rot in hell for it.
It’s kind of weird, you know. To know that you’re going to hell.
I mean, you go through life knowing that you’re worth nothing. There’s all those people who have it easy, that are born with money, good lucks, hot bodies, the brain of Einstein, sometimes all four. And then there’s me- the ugly duckling who never became a swan, the unsuccessful hobo on the street. You would think that at least in the afterlife you would somehow get the upper hand for once.
It’s not fair. I try hard in life. I have skills that other people don’t have, but nobody seems to recognize that. And then there’s THOSE people- they’re rude, obstinate, commit crimes, and yet they live better lives than most of the world. They don’t deserve what they have.
Why couldn’t it be me? If I had been born in their situation, I would have been so much more successful than they are, I would have been able to do so much more with my life. I hate all of them.
But whatever. I’m envious, so I’m gong to hell anyways.