Musings of a dumb bitch

What?

What do you want?
Really, why are we even speaking about this?
Same shit, new script.
You're sad, everybody's sad darling.
What makes you special?
Because nobody feels it like this.
It's just deeper and colder isn't it?
Burning, burning and searing so cold its fire. White and hot.
And sad.
It's always sad.
And you're thinking what's the point.
Because I'm dead anyway and nobody cares.
That's not true.
But it always is.
Who would be pathetic enough to care about a freak like you.
I'm not being poetic.
No darling audience, I'm afraid I've entirely lost the plot.
Absolutely bananas I am.
A walking corpse and that's not even a metaphor.
Brown bread. In every sense of the word.
But that makes no sense you say.
How can you be dead?!
Good question Doctor! My heart is beating and my lungs are having a banger of a time. Yes it's all running quite smoothly apart from when it's not.
But no, quite deceased I'm afraid.
Stone cold.
And I ask myself. Why?
Why would they do this? It's sick, why can't us dead just lie?
And I tell you why I'm writing this.
Because maybe you'll read it.
One of you. I'm not sure.
I assume you're listening, watching.
You all really need a hobby.
And I'm fine! Thanks for asking.
100% a-okay.
My head is quite secure Monsieur.
I mean I'm not actually alive, will probably end my life before twenty and in likely need of urgent physciatric aid...
But that aside.
I'm fine.
So cheer up darling.
Chin up chicky.
You're sad, I know. But it comes and goes. And you've already gone.
I've already gone.
So what do I want?
Same shit, new script.
There's no point in even having this conversation.
Where does that get me.
What do I want; really?