The Crowd

Walking through the crowd I notice, since a long time before; what it all is in front of me.

I slowly observe the people around, how they walk, how they breathe; denying what I already believed, I understand that everyone is already dead. Looking deeply in their empty eyes, their distant glances and hearing their mindless chatter. With long, fast steps I almost fly through the streets and cry along, what deeply carves into my soul.

Everyone is already dead. Their soft bodies are slowly poisoned by their own flesh, what their lungs breath is even worse. They hear only noise and desire something more from their lives, like bottomless pits they thirst for more. They all walk as defeated people, with out defined horizons; not even for today, no one speaks the truth ( it is more convenient) their reality dissolves into worthless trash.

Their vacant minds slowly disappear, because they are so full of nothing of importance. The art dies slowly because every day becomes forgotten or destroyed, and only some faint voices cry for mercy, or beg for a coin. These voices become nothing more, for they became what everyone else will become when they clearly see as I do, the true dogs they truly are.

Our world of steel and stone moves so fast and destroys so emptilly, even the hearts of those people are just flesh and selfish pointless emotions.

Meanwhile, I was walking here and there, thinking about this and that, the great truth was opened to me, like an old sealed vault waiting to be discovered by my own blind and contaminated eyes. Maybe I finally saw because my brain collapsed and broke as a soft crystal glass from which I drank blood the last time I was alive. The thing I finally saw is that everyone sees exactly the same as I, accepting it or not. Understanding it or not even creating or destroying it, they just don’t care. The most egotistical of those, the one that confidentally stands awaiting the cab, or the young boy stealing the purse of the poor lonely old lady, or the dirty old bum with the tattered beaten hat turned up begging for a coin. No one cares.

I fell to my knees, my hands became fists of iron, in the middle of this crowd, bloody tears spilled from my eyes, yelling at the grey metallic sky. No one bothers to turn their heads, not for curiosity nor for concearn, for fear, they just kept walking in their own dead world living their own dead lives. Walking the walk most do before they see what I see, the walk of limbo.

I stay there until the shadows swallow the day, softly, as a mother embraces her lost beloved child, my soul escaped from me, with out any consideration towards my efforts to grab it as hard as I could, it simply slipped away. Like a petal in the wind, with grace, and gentleness.

The next morning, when the crowd returned to it’s selfish walk, my stoned statue laid on the ground in the middle of the busy street. A thin teenager on his knees, pleading to the unforgiving sky, just another one from the crowd, that finally wanted to accept what he truly was...