MISOPHONIA

I do not know tranquility, for even at its quietest, when the world abandons its chaotic refrain for an infinitesimal moment, I am subjected to the sound of life.

My ragged breath, infected with tar and cholesterol, struggling forth from my coal black lungs, falls limply out of my mouth and nose, defeated by its gruesome origin. It meets the fresh, incoming horde that is all a-bustle with zest and enthusiasm. It infects them with its disillusionment so that, even as the horde enters my person, it is already a minion of despair.

This arrhythmic phenomenon plays out over and over, keeping time for decay and degradation, flooding the universe with discordant malaise.

It is a constant reminder to me of my frailty, of my insignificance, of my helplessness.

And yet, I do not begrudge it its existence, for even the botched may demand its right to exist. What I object to is its extortion. I partake of its abortive existence without consent. I was not consulted when this commingling took birth. I am a bonded labourer, forced to participate in this parasitical endeavour.

For it is a parasite, and nothing more. Always begging the Universe for life, and returning only fumes. A grey, stolid edifice that spews forth toxicity. I did not wish my body to be an imitation of the pollutive industrial revolution. They, at least, had the excuse of facilitating progress. I consume only to prolong this downward spiral.

And yet, I am not allowed an option to extricate myself. The contract is absolute. Where the parasite wishes to go, I must carry it. I am a powerless vessel, given illusory rights and meaningless titles, but in the end, a glorified slave.

And so, though my soul craves tranquility, yearns for solace and solitude and pleads for stillness, I run headlong into cacophony, submerging myself in the brash and the loud, surrounding myself with chaos and pandemonium. Anything to distract from this endless, gangrenous hiss. Anything to drown out the festering rattle of half-life.

I live in fear of the calm. I go to bed with the frenetic, trusting in its incessantness to be my guardian through the perilous, mute nights.

One day, when I have fulfilled my obligations to this pitiless tyrant, and my body has broken beyond repair, I will be set free and embrace, unbreathing, the silent void. And only then will my soul know tranquility.