And suddenly there's hope, there's some light, and then the tubelight flickers and the lights are out. The scene is shot long, the hospital beds are filled with sufferers. Someone coughs, someone takes a mighty gulp of water, and there's a sense of brokenness as the clock tower strikes eleven.
You've been here long, you've been waiting, you've been looking for answers in toilets where some haggard souls have scribbled meaningful poems in 4 letters. You're not old, but you've begun to look older. Your stomach is an angry pit that starves, and when you throw something in it -- the soup pot declares mutiny. You don't care to shave, the man in the mirror looks away. You talk to yourself, you console the friend, you lose the friend. You take the thought of love and gulp it down your windpipe -- because you never felt it any. It's a sheet of white toilet paper waiting to be smudged.
You wished everyone, and sent them off to a kinder place, while you locked yourself in a room. You swam in a deep dark ocean of unconsciousness, with sharks, and a bucket of blood in your mouth.
And everything is meant to be this way. Then there will be a Holocaust.