Indifference
2. The Unread Ledger
Facing the unyielding, dismissive gaze of indifference. Image by Midjourney v7.
The Unread Ledger
I am, and this I is a ledger of hurts, each entry meticulously documented, each plea authenticated by the invisible ink of suffering. Decades of it. Do you see? My lifelines are not lines at all but fissures, dimming like ancient stars collapsing under their own weight. This vessel you observe, it brims not with wine but with sorrows, a constant vertigo in a world that has lost its balance, its justice a rusted mechanism. And Millie, my Millie, her warmth is now a ghost in the fading tapestry of all I ever cherished.
These paths I tread are not paved; they are fractured glass underfoot, each step a re-acquaintance with a burning, fibrous inflammation of the soul. And the authorities, they watch, do they not? Their hands are folded, clean. Their coffers are full, lined with the silence that answers my pleas. Six days I labour against the current, the seventh brings no rest, only the tightening of the same invisible shackles. My pain is a meticulous report, submitted daily, piled high, unread.
I have yearned for the quiet corners of compassion, for the havens where truth is not a foreign tongue but the very air one breathes. Instead, these hollow shells, these systems designed to break the already broken. Their architecture is a monument to indifference. Medical reports stack like accusations against their neglect, and hunger, a patient wolf, gnaws beneath the sunset of each failing day.
If governance is this wilful blindness, this turning away from the falling, then why the pretence of care? Why not complete the demolition that suffering began? An honest end, a swift release — would that not be a mercy compared to this curated decay, this slow tightening of the noose of your neglect? If you must turn away, at least let your silence be honest, not cloaked in the platitudes of a care that never arrives. Let the earth be my final auditor, the celestial skies my witness. No more false promises. Only peace, when the spirit is finally, irrevocably, unburdened.
