I want to go somewhere else entirely. A place where I will forget my own name. How my face looks. The sound of another heartbeat. The feel of skin against my own.
Another day. Another disappointment. Another night. One more heartbreak stacked atop the rest; just bricks slapped atop a layer of pale loneliness.
I want to walk so far and so long that I forget everything. Let my memories bleed into the desert floor from the soles of my dead feet. Don’t bother looking for the bones–let the sun bleach them and the coyotes crunch them down to powder.
Make me forget. Make me invisible. It’s what was bound to happen anyway. It was meant to happen; meant to be. My name was meant to be a warning, an illustration in apocalyptic form of how abjectly fucked you can be. How it doesn’t matter what I did or how much I tried, it’d always end up the same. I was going to be the one who could never quite fit. The metaphorical “square peg”. Quintissential.
This world was never meant for me. I was never meant for greatness or great things, only to be someone’s toy. A broken and pitiful thing, a chalk line drawn only to be washed away. I can only imagine what others would say. “Good riddance”. “About time”. “What a coward”.
Carve my name in stone. Then forget about me just like all the rest.