Inner Monologue

He’s so far away

So far.. he might as well be God.

Apparently ubiquitous, but demonstrably aloof and nebulous.

What the fuck do you want?

Do you even want?

Are you even in there?

Are you even here?

As you sit across the kitchen table behind the Sunday Times newspaper (stop sipping the coffee like that, fucktard!), I hear Marilyn Manson singing in your non-voice, swaying and swaggering with the wide lens camera like a sentient rag doll – not here: “Don’t assume that I’m always with you, it’s just where my mortal body happens to be”

What the fuck are you?

God?

How do you get away with making me feel so shitty without even — no, fuck you!

I’m not gonna bother anymore.

 

Photo by Sam Wheeler on Unsplash

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