9 Minutes

I am the last in the very long line of characters who populate my life. They are in my life, yet I am barely in theirs. Online of offline I am the last.
I am the person that people online ignore or the reason they logon invisible. People check around the corner to see if I’m there then walk the other way. They call me the day after the party & say “I thought …… would have told you”
No one is immune from these feelings. The idea that any one might morn or miss my existence is utterly ridiculous in my mind. There is, of course, the usual show of hands & tears by those who might be slightly worse off for not having me around to clean their house, pay their bills, do their work or generally kick around like a doormat, but they are few & spread margarine thin.
The interested few are creeps from the internet who first appear to hear me & in the end only want to fuck me or kill me or both. The man I love, himself emerged from the internet, is not mine at all. The man in my bed, a poor imitation of a man. If only I could accomplish the man in my bed, being the man I am in love with. To be loved by Meta in the way I want to be loved would heal me, could save me. Every inch of my skin aches at the thought of his touch.
I lie in this bed thinking about the imitation man. “He goes to work in 9 minutes & in 9 minutes it can be over, with him safely tucked up at work oblivious to my actions for the next 5 hours I could easily set up, organise & get right – the bath in blood, the car in the stobie pole, rope from the verandah? Or maybe the car over the cliff. The one overlooking the place where it all began? The same place my father went when he thought the same way.
In 9 minutes…
Instead, while I formulate these ideas I write them down & they ferment.
If I left all the doors & windows unlocked & left my address in the local psycho chat room could I maybe count on someone coming in through the window & strangling me in my sleep…? Is it even possible that I could on purpose find someone that mental when I have found far worse by accident in the past…
I am constantly tired. I close my eyes & I see no way out. Half an hour’s past, the second hand is going backwards & I am still contemplating those 9 minutes…

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