sweet sheep sleep in sheets

I want the deepest pit of blankets. Down comforters in silk. I want the largest dose of sleeping pills. I want to be rocked and soothed till my eye lids are so heavy, so heavy, so heavy I drift, I am gone. 

I want to wake to a life with meaning.

That sinking stomach feeling.

Hyperbolized fiction. A modern day sci-fi. Warm, hot, burning, melting to that static sound.

If you suddenly went deaf in New York City you would hear that static sound.

Of course, I know you wouldn’t hear anything. But the static sound is a feeling. Sounds like static – no ringing – you are so unsure of the difference you strain your ears for a little more. Please let me distinguish the two. Like your hands under cold water after playing in the snow. Burning freezing? No difference. Till suddenly you realize neither – just pressure – the static sound. 

Separation. My deepest desire. 

I don’t want to see or hear these people anymore. I don’t want their chit chat chatter. And I don’t want to fake smile-pretend I am okay-giggle about your joke about someone I don’t know – about what it is all about. Nothing. 

When I say separation I mean death.

Not murder.

Not suicide.

Simply non existence. A sweet non existing peace. Like wax crayons over a fire. Melting, melting until no more. Just sweet sweet peace.