The action itself wasn't as I thought it would be. I had planned for the knowledge of peace, not this coherency of insignificance. In the end nothing is peaceful it seems.
I was always taught I would choke on the acrid smell of sulfer and feel the flames as they leisurely licked their way across my body. A burn that would last all of eternity.
But alas, it seems the sidewalk prophets and the well intending we're misinformed. The proof is in the floating.
Floating. I am floating. I float for every sleepless night. I float for every misstep. I float for every word spoken in love that was shredded and mangled to appease souls darker than mine.
There will still be some that will say it was all to be seen. All of it for just a taste of that deliciously intoxicating and all consuming few seconds of fame and notoriety.
There is none. There is just me, or what is left of me, and the water.
So tell me, do you see me now? Do you see my tears flowing freely from my wrists as you walk your dog? Do you see my skin shrivelling to ripples as you brush your teeth?
Do you see my bloated and putrid face as you fuck your fat wife? No. No one sees me .
No one sees my absence for several days. It isn't until the water affects the apartment below that people see me. Then they aren't seeing me at all.
They see a sad cautionary tale to young girls. They must be taught to heal quickly from the constant flogging lest they become a bloody mess for someone else to be left to clean.
Oops. Is it now, now that I lay in a frilly box with the only picture of me my mother likes there beside. Will I finally see that someone knew me? No.
Even now they mock me and my life with lies of love and fictitious intimacy. For those first two weeks there are traitorous tears and vote inducing speeches of change and empathy.
They have the best of intentions. But of roads to hell I was warned, were they? By a months time I am invisible again.