'Going', I was told

I am sorry, I want to say. I want to scream it into the air. Push it into Vacuum and try to fill it with the patheticness of it. The unfairness. The heartlessness. ‘I am sorry’, I want to scratch into the white wall staring at me with its obsolete blankness; like everything else is just as simple and solid as it as well. I want to take a knife and carve it into the shiny counters which they scrub to the falsity of clinical sterility so well. ‘I am sorry’, I want to infuse into the fragrances and the stenches so they diffuse into the unseen crannies and inform them too.

I want them to take all those needles out and drill ‘I am sorry’ into them, then plunge them into the craters on my skin instead, so that I can have a pain I can explain, for once. ‘I am sorry’, I want to say over and over again, till the lining of my veins absorb what I can’t say and burst open from the harrowing anguish of it. Then I want to hold the blood in my drenched hands and meticulously inscribe ‘I am sorry’ into every single cell till one of them inflates into a lifeboat.

I want my eyes to gain vocal cords so they can verbally wail 'I am sorry' loud enough to make the world stop. 'I am sorry', I want the orchestra of crickets hiding in the night to intone. So the black veil itself carries the brunt of this ruthless unrelenting nihilism.

I want every single atom in the cosmos to repeat the mantra beating itself in my breath. I want Fire to take these words from my tongue and burn with the intensity of how badly I mean them. I want Wind to carry and spread them in flecks of ashes wherever it goes.

I am sorry. I don’t know how to say it enough times. I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry. I want to take these empty, hollow words and stuff them with meaning so they don’t just sound like sycophantic codes of formality.

I don’t know how to get it across to you: how sorry I am, and how much I wish I could do something, anything at all. Every insufficient word I am saying to you is a synonym of ‘I am sorry’. They don’t even contain the entirety of how heartbreakingly sorry I am. If ever anyone meant ‘I am sorry’ in its unabridged, integral, indescribably true form, it is me right now.

‘I am sorry’, I want to shriek and whisper and not say.

I am so, so, so sorry.

                                                         ~ For the inventor of Reason Cannons.

                                                             I said it then. I mean it still.