Sunday, January 7, 2007


do we grow duller as we grow older?
do we lose a bit of our sanity as penance while every layer of catastrophe unfolds?
do we regain faith because our options fall short?

jenigma is as old as sin. she couldn't grasp the concept that her biggest achievement in life would be a couple of kids shared with another man and faith would lead her to a path of redemption. in this path, she would have the strength to hold on to misery.

after the man dies, she would live in the discomfort of a home with grown children whose priorities are twisted. she would be second to whom she had sacrificed her entire life to. her consolation was that this was life's vicious cycle; you give, somebody takes, somebody else takes it away from that somebody.

life felt like a cruel game. sometimes it was hard to put herself into the faith that landed her here in the first place. without faith, we would all be eternally lost without anything to hold on to.

after countless stages of mock reality in a box, she felt tired. age was beginning to catch up on her joints. she lived with two children in a big house which reminded her of her loneliness. the two children regarded her home as a boarding place for sleep and showers.

she could hardly walk and this was owed to time which had worn out her energy. it was hard to make it out to the world on her own. help was at a bargain with friends and family who had disregarded her existence.

her two children had gone on a vacation without her. she had become a chore ever since she lost her legs. she was used to this.

it was her birthday. alone with four walls, she turned on the radio and she dreamt of her past for the future that she has no control over. she sings at the top of her lungs finding comfort in the sounds while reminiscing memories.

she fell in love with her parents at a young age. her heart was stolen by a boy and she had given him all she could give. she shared her life with him and had two children. she remembered their baby steps and little fingers.

but fuck it. the song ended.

1 comment:

The Venereal One said...

Happy belated birthday, love.

Misery in the light of tragedy. Could there be a better way to explain this story or any other story of solace and solemness? Only time will tell, oh do we think. But we waste this precious, precious time nonetheless.

Your thoughts are in mine. Peace.