Beneath it all, there’s a hum.
They can’t see it. They can’t feel it. It doesn’t matter anyway. Most people never do. Never ‘want to be free’ as you say. You think everyone does. Free from what. From what? They don’t know they’re bound by the mundaneness of it all.
They’re making babies, babies, babies. And I’m taking pills and pills and pills. They don’t get it. You say you wouldn’t stop me. That you don’t want kids, to have kids, to just have kids. ‘Just have kids.’
But you. You feel the hum. Just below the surface. Deep enough for none to see or feel. But you. And me. And maybe someone else, other people somewhere, who’ve already killed themselves. Beating us to the punch.