Sleep Alone

In a pool of warm wax my candle burns its last breath, while outside the scattered tenants of the other building head to work and school. As I sit in my apartment, the rest of the disabled and retirees get up to watch the propaganda on their TVs. While I sit at my desk taking pills and drinking decaf, staring out the window at the plain green walls of the apartment next door, I know this all sounds so overly dramatic. But it is the way of life for a broken down storyteller with the ambition of a feral cat looking for its next meal.
 
So as the candle nearly extinguishes itself under the weight of melted wax, I type these words to tell no story in particular, other than to chronicle the day of another passing phase in life. Of an old man that doesn’t feel that old until he tries to complete a task his younger self could do in half the time. Worrying about the young people he sees and the words of a dictator that rules their lives and sells their rights to the highest bidder, as I willingly do the same. For what is freedom but just another four-letter word, more akin to cussing than a matter of pride.
 
So I sit here and type, three quarters into the story without saying a word. Producing content to be consumed by the masses and as easily forgotten as a roach crawling across the floor. Still, within it we find the passion to consume or create and that’s how the cycle goes. Between the wicked and the saints, the loved ones and the hated, between you and me. Cussing out our circumstance while telling each other, "I love you." Only to turn off our phones to lay our heads on cold pillows and sleep alone.
 
#freedom #smartphones #connected #alone