321. a roach on a rubber

As I type these words, I'm distracted by an insect fighting for its life. It is walking aimlessly on the floor, waiting for Death to crumple its entire being any minute from now.

How morbid.

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I've been tempted long enough not to blog, as words don't seem to fit perfectly in my head. It still doesn't. But if I wait for a right timing, a perfect opportunity to seize, I just might not be able to blog anymore.

So whatever.

A lot has happened in less than a week: A situation pressed me to question people around me. A ring of trust has been broken, followed by a series of numbness and indifference. A doubt now seething my existence. A danger arising which I feared to happen long before it came. A potential flame I've waited long enough to lose hold of. 

It's like a season ender, minus the pun this holiday brings.

--

And there goes the pest again. This time it's belly flat near the computer's AVR. No, wait. Ah yes, it's lying there. Almost dead, legs panicky, a couple attempts to fight back. No success.

Lucky shite.

Roach

Now comes the realization, no matter how dumb it seems: its death is a classic metaphor of this "toxic chapter" wherein I, a roach at some point, grip on poetically for dear life, go round and round ridiculously in my own saga, & anticipate the sweet taste of death for my pain and troubles to end. 

Oh the death of a troubling madness! I say "shoo".