Same Old Tired

I like to listen to what faces have to say, especially when their mouths are shut. The Man in Black has a face that makes you lean in closer and listen. I want to hear.

Life is the same. Depressing and shit. Blah blah blah. Nobody cares what I say, with or without words. No one leans in closer. No one asks questions even after I offer the answers. Because it’s the same old shit. People want a problem to solve, but once they realize they can’t fix it, that they just have to live with it, they don’t want to hear it anymore. I’m that problem that nobody wants to live with or hear. Well, Johnny gets it. Everybody listens, but nobody hears. I try, Johnny, I do. I try to hear. The problem with being a body is that you have ears and a mouth, but some people aren’t allowed to use both. Some people are only people when they’re useful. I will hear, over and over, but never be heard.

But honestly, who cares? Out of 7 billion people, I am absolutely forgettable. I read an article in the New York Times about a man that died, and no one noticed for quite some time. He had no family or next in kin. His neighbors only knew something was wrong, because he didn’t move his car for street-cleaning. He died anonymously. They had to ID him with only medical records and his teeth, because there was no one to claim him. The people in his will (drawn up in the ’80s) hadn’t spoken to him for decades. The man noted as executor of his estate handed it over to the government to deal with. No. One. Cared. People can live totally anonymous lives and die like they never existed. So, really, what’s the point? Why bother? We don’t matter. So why the pain and the fatigue and the sickness and the rejection? I’m tired, tired, tired…”sing me to sleep, sing me to sleep, I don’t want to wake up on my own anymore…”