Wanting to Cheat

Perhaps the best way to flee this melodramatic conviction is to get a razor blade out of that little china cabinet at my bedside and slash it upon my wrist… but that would be cheating.

I have speculated several times that I have disappointed you at almost all facets of your many splendored dreamcoat of glories. You didn’t have to rub it in.

But who’s to blame? The answer is me.

I blame myself for being so incompetent and substandard. I am not like the others who have a cornucopia of prowesses- masters of all trade. You had your hopes on me for fulfilling one of your dreams but to no avail because my mediocrity slammed the doors shut which occasionally presses me to entertain the thought that the answer is not only me but also you. You are equally culpable as I am because it was you in the first place who imposed such statuesque expectations. Yes, your expectations were surmountable. It’s just that God sent you me. I may be your price to pay for all the villainy that you have done. I am the most preposterous diversion that you have never endured until now.

I feel bad for you. I do. A damn shame, really, that I had to have you and that you had to have me. It can't be easy having me. Nothing can ever prepare someone for this kind of disappointment.

I pamper the feeling of being a malfunction in your could-have-been perfect life. I spend my nights with damp pillows filled with my tears of chagrin. How do I get by? I DON’T.

That razor blade is lonesome in that little china cabinet and using it is as enticing as a mouth-watering triple chocolate mousse. I want to use it. I want to cheat my way through life or shall I say, cheat life by deliberately catapulting by body six feet under.

But I shall vindicate myself. A flicker of hope is slowly devouring my remorseful heart.

That razor blade will be kept hidden in that little china cabinet because someday, you’ll see that I will make you proud and it will be the most excruciating slap-on-the-face you will ever taste!