I feel like the villains are scheming to blow up the planet from their rocketship, and I’m trapped in a basement tied to a sewer pipe.
I feel like someone cut off my hands, and they’re laughing at me through the walls.
I feel like the bomb shelters were not dug deep enough.
I feel like the intercom system has been hijacked.
I feel like words, however you try to say them, are only weapons now.
I feel like the keys are in the hands of the intruders.
I feel like I know the password, but it’s not working.
I feel like we tripped the blue wire.
I feel like we’ve been thrust into some horrible game where the only roles are puppets, charlatans, scapegoats, and fools.
I feel like half the players are sleepwalking on a heroin binge, and the other half are doing sixteen cups of coffee a day in straitjackets with duct tape over their mouths.
I feel like the devil is dancing.
I feel like I’m the only one who can hear me screaming.
I feel like it’s already over, that levers have been pulled, and I’m on the ground with a foot on my neck, choking on dust like Captain Kirk, like Ghandi, legs broken, ribs shattered, being forced to watch it all play out as I bleed back into the Earth.
I feel like I’m out of time, like we all are, and some of us are going out with regret, some with anger, some with cash, some with ignorance, and some with lies.
And even then, in the last second before the boom, before the finger pushes the button, when we all realize we must contend with the only truth left, we won’t be together.