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soul of a dead

             Sitting on my bed, looking outside the window leading to where the sun was beginning to unfold its mighty wings, I was nothing but a zombie on my grand casket- my great paradise of dead dreams and decayed hopes. As the cold breeze of the early morning touched my even colder skin, I felt like a shore where waves of memories are flooding. But for me, nothing is a memory. My heart had refused to feel, and I"m nothing but a senseless soul floating in the atmosphere.
             My eyes, which for years and years ago did nothing but release their crystal tears, see nothing but darkness now. I could feel nothing but more than the coldness around me, and I can hear nothing more than the tranquility that sweeps over my site, because I spurned to be human with a heart.
             I was a robot who would act as I am asked. Scold me and I would not lament; tell me everything under the clear sky and I would never react; express your opinion and I would never oppose it. I would hear your words, but never dare expect that my ears would catch them.
             Now, spending my time here on my little seventh heaven, you could cut my throat and I will not speak, nor shriek, nor lament. I will just sit where I am sitting, and kill time until all my blood drip out and I fall down, dead.
             My love was gone, and gone is everything on me: gone was my heart, my spirit, my soul. Gone is my life. The seventh heaven is never mine; agonies are the gift I always received. But now, I will not feel them all until eternity.
             But beware. Do not imitate me. My soul will wander and make you jubilant, because my little paradise of darkness is only mine. No one could keep it like I do. I will hunt you if you do. This is my destiny: TO BE THE SOUL OF A DEAD, and TO BE A DEAD WITHOUT A SOUL.

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