Sitting in a lonely room, trying to decipher the blurry pictures on the black box without cameras watching, deciding a suitable rate to wear eardrums away, bored with a sickening thought of death in the back of the head, contemplating the next few hours and the date the following day, here in this place where one shall dream of a quiet death, and finally stopped caring about how the rest would feel.
Headaches causing stress flood the mind, strain on the scalp as the hair is being pulled in upset anger, a low buzz of a nearby light source begins to irritate, much like life: at first annoying, then most get used to the buzz but a few become so irritated they want to stand up off their asleep asses, turn off the light and sit in darkness while the rest mourn their departure from the light of life.
Finding a tempowary sense of inner peace because the tune of the 8-minute funeral dirge covers the buzz of the light above. Eyes close and the eyelids feel the irritation of the eyes as they have spent too long taking in all the surroundings when they need rest.
Memories flood the mind as the dirge announces the devils presence inside all of us, memories of when the want for death began, and yet small excuses kept the ass sleeping on the chair and made it bear the light. One time, on feet, hands were on the switch and it nearly turned off, but the pain that rushed to the finger when it approached the light made it pull away.
Energy is lacking in the body that wants to rise and turn off the light, it doesnt even know what is stopping it as it suddenly has no energy
