In the finite of universes I've encountered,

the pain of going through meaningless labour like this one,

sends the most shivers down my rack.

Sure, I'm not one to be down to earth with describing my struggles, and needless to say I'm neither one to say things as is. What would be the fun in that? I scuffed, as I turn on my office chair with escalating speeds. A wrong move will chop my head off. The wall, which for some reason had been sharpened to perfection, was an tedious and forever obstacle in my wish of gaining lightspeed. A shame.

It was a shame too that grass needed to be cut today. And tomorrow, and the day after, and after. Without you.

I shook my head. No. I don't need to dwell on this. I buried my face into my fists, clenching hold onto my flesh like cats onto curtains. You have been through this.

Yes, it happened not so long ago.

Because even if relations between someone should be giving,

the one we shared was none but teeth,

goosebumps,

and heck of a lot of headaches.

You brought this upon me.

But your personality-

fuck, it was like a venus flytrap.

Welcoming, special, beautiful -

but your true nature revolved around it.

Your fangs, your teeth, your poison.

I'm not even sure if I knew the real you.

Was that just a fake too?

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter.

I crawl into my embrace, hugging onto me, as if anything could tear my body from it's seams. This is what you get for jumping into it again. I tell myself. This is what I get for being stupid.

But I couldn't help it. Because you stole a part of me.

You used me like a kitchen-cloth.

I didn't even get anything in return. I didn't receive the amount of work I put into you back, nor any redeemable awards. "Thank you," "I appreciate you," "You're one of the best," was all I got.

But where's the action? What are we without our words? Words are just seemingly interconnected pieces of sounds, and sounds put into meaning and then put into coherent sentences of meanings. "But what the fuck are you?" I whisper to myself, trying to surpress the stone in my throat.

All I got- no. All I needed was for you to pay me. Emotional labour, dude. It's no joke.

I let hold of myself, with the stone falling to my stomach. I sigh, nodding. Yes. It's no longer a issue. Because you're gone.

Because I left.

Because you're no longer here.

Standing, my legs wobble away. Right, the chair. I grin, brushing away some see-through dust on my cheeks. Idiot. I think.

You got some grass to cut.

Oi is this on

please no,

light hit ma' face and then right in the groin,

belly full of beer and I don't want mo',

is this on?

Strain on the bucket,

piss running over and ahh fuck'et

the floor needs to be cleaned but you say knock it?

Ait mate whatever you say,

but don't tell ye' I warned yeh,

with your favorite food being... what's the thing that goes meeeh?

Now you're saying I need to get offstage, but I haven't even thanked my girlfriend May.

Uh, I love yeh and appreciate yeh but its time yeh

to find someone who doesn't get drunk all the time,

but man I love yeh and would like a kiss from yeh,

but it's time.

No I see you but we can't,

this relationship is over

oh, you want a kiss eh,

no just leave and take the landrover,

there she went.

Erm, I guess I will speak

for the audience and the world

but I can still think so I haven't reached the peak

and my head isn't going in a swirl.

This is where my speech begin, so, my making mary molded into dust

but that doesn't make me any depressed,

and it probably didn't enjoy being stuck in the attic because when I took it outside it fled away with the next gust,

angrier than the repressed,

but I hardly felt anything because of my lust,

Yes, I lust for the taste of beer,

and if someone don't then they're probably a quee-

not that I'm sorry,

but kids, the adults would say "that's fair"

so I will move along like my affair.

Yet, when I look around

I see the future of many promising youths.

Those who can change what we think of mouths,

what to use them for, because I'm getting tired of this and I need a new round.

Gosh, what more?

Haven't I said enough?

You want more lore?

I'll give you something, something really though.

When you look back at yeh life and think of the things you missed, smile,

for soon you'll sit in a office with a file.

Thass' why you need to raise yeh cheek up high,

move with the world cuz' you're walkin' a while,

and by a while I mean a while, like a mile.

Move with the world or the world will have you crushed,

you will feel how it's like getting thrown into the mind.

With no falecy in sight you'll get flushed.

Alcohol might be my escape,

and sure, it's nice,

but it will lead me to my demise.

Don't do what I do,

do what you do.

In the end, uh... can I use someone's phone?

Because I need to dial a friend,

and I can't find mine so I need someone to ring him so I can hear the tone

so please could someone lend

so I don't end up becoming a Twitter trend

so I get home and hope this all end.

The time and place of the occurence that happened, is irrelevant. Everyone should just stick to the sides, never to interfere. Right? The answer is no. No, you should.

The time when it happened was unfortunate. It could be night, day - it didn't matter. When it happened, and when we stood by the sides, we were looking.

We, then I mean the whole human race, watched it - watched it happen. Like rats or guinea pigs, we were its test subjects. The sickness.

We were as much a influence as the sickness was the mediator. It didn't do this. In fact, we on the sides did. By contributing nothing, and seemlessly falling in a great panic - god, why are we so stubborn? Pathetic even.

"It's a bat soup!" many would say and many would laugh. It was a joke, mostly by the same people. The sides. However, it could be true.

It most likely was.

It certainly was true.

The soup was the relentless sickness, going in whirlpools. And we, the sides of the bowl.

How about the foundations you ask? What was the ground which the soup stood? You. The same who stood on the sides.

Why couldn't you contribute? The sickness was within reach of destruction. Why would you let it dwell longer? The soup got cold, dirty even. Dirty with plague and angst. "Why won't you end me?" it would cry, "when will I rest?" At last it would blossom. It's use long forgotten. Now, it was a weapon of murder - another tool for the toolshed.

The ones who cried "sick!" were now the causes of them.

Ignorance.

Stupidity.

Why is it so hard to wear a mask? We've all been wearing one a while - why not another? Why is it so hard to understand?

The air is humid, and humanity is gasping for it. And many times we have wept of the days to last longer. With joy in our hearts, peace within our knitted hands we celebrated. Maybe this sickness isn't all bad? If you think about it... How long has it been since the world united? Our houses locked, our home isolated - to stop it, and not to keep each other away? When did that happen?

The sickness have shown us something. Sure, it's stopping us - dangerous and all. But, think about the good things. The more dead people the less resources we - no, not that.

Think of it more in a bonding sense. Has there ever been a bad soup we couldn't throw away? No. We've dealt with many bad soups before, and you don't see much of them now.

Think of this as well - the sides will learn something too.

Pages will be written about this, like I and many others have already done, this soup will go rolling down the streets of history - the bowl taking it to a halt at last, where it will stop.

So, dear side person. I understand we couldn't contribute directly. When the sickness happened, we thought of it like it was a lesser bad soup than it was. We didn't yet know the ingredients. So when it got bad, it got bad. We watched, and could only watch, as the labrats we were. But at last we took action and oh boy did we grip hard. It sure felt it. Everyone on the sides did contribute at last. And for that I'm happy, and thankful. We don't usually get along, but this showed us we can tackle everything. Together we are strong and yuck - that cliché is overused.

It's healthy to overuse in some aspects, like the security for these coming months. Why? Because we're letting the sickness do as it like. The heat wanting us to come out of our shells, like the hermitcrabs we are.

Please, don't do it. You're making yourself a bigger target for the foul soup. Don't do it. We need to shelter up. It's not fun, I know, but it's necessary.

With everyone eating the bad soup, who's going to be the one to throw it? Is it the last person eating it, or the first to taste it?

You are responsible. You are capable. You are beautiful.

Without you, we'll continue eating the soup.

Without anyone, telling us what's wrong, we'll continue.

Feasting.

But with your help we will manage.

That's why you should interfere. That's why it isn't important when it happened. You stood on the sides, fine, you can change. Now that you have read this, a token of this occurence, of when it happened - will you interfere next time it happens, or will you stand on the sides, a mute bystander, to the things you could stop?

#coronavirus

#covid-19