Another day, another dollar. Well, at least that’s what it was to me. I hate what corporate America has become. Of course, I hated it so much that I eventually took my life. The American Dream is no longer what it once used to be. It’s gone astray. it’s been warped. it’s now a disease that infests deep within us and causes us to walk aimlessly and live paycheck to paycheck.
I used to get so worked up about it; I used to cut myself. The important thing about it was that I had to make sure I kept it in hidden places: from my wife, my kids, and of course, other people. I couldn’t afford bein’ tossed into the loony bin. I couldn’t deal with the idea of my wife leavin’ me and takin’ my kids away. . .or havin’ folks come in and say that I was unfit to be a father and say they were goin’ to place them into a foster home or some shit.
So, I’d cut myself on my thighs, a good portion below the waistline, armpits, between my toes, and a few other places. Eventually, as times got harder to cope, and I was further makin’ preparations of my demise, I didn’t care too much where I’d cut myself. So I started cuttin’ my forearms, doin’ elaborate designs, figured hell why not.
After killin’ myself, and how I found myself havin’ itches, I came to cuttin’ once again. Only this time, a lot of the scars of when I died. . .did not heal. Either it was a reminder or a joke. . .somethin’ I wasn’t gonna let it stop me from doin’ what I was doin’ best here.
A few times I was at the old hardware store in town. Ya know the small mom and pop kind of deal. I had needed somethin’ to fix the sink. Well, I walked in and saw a pretty little thing, thought some bad thoughts, cracked a grin to myself and wandered on. I had some guy help me with my selection of what the hell I could use to either fix the situation permanently or temporarily. I chose the temporary route because let’s face it and I’ll be the first to admit it. I ain’t no handyman. I hate that idea of gettin’ all dirty and tryin’ to fix somethin’ that isn’t my forte and then fuckin’ it up further. Of course, money doesn’t grow on trees, so meh, alternatives gotta be made.
Anyway, I was lookin’ at all the shiny merchandise and happened to find the hammers, saws, etc. Well, I ended up gettin’ an itch. So, there I was down aisle five, takin’ a hammer to my fingers. You could hear the loud thuds of a hammer comin’ down on somethin’ hard. You could also see the blood that was pourin’ all over me. . .and the floor. I had a guy try to stop me. Hell, even that pretty little thing up at the register I saw when I walked in cried out too. I decided to go the maniacal route and “attack” them, only to further injure myself. Eventually, they tried to overpower me, and I figured if the hammer is gonna fall. . .it’s gonna be by my hand. So I brought the claw down on my skull a few times until I dropped to the ground and watched the lights slowly dim with a grin on my face. I am certain the headline of the local newspaper would be great. Just great.
Funny how it is, though bein’ in control of a situation and you know the outcome. I couldn’t help but think of that teapot song. Instead of a teapot, though, I thought “here is my hammer and here is my skull. When I bring it down and smash about, watch all my blood and brains spill out.”