From the Inside, I feel the Rain

The class laugh while the teacher fumbles around, but I can’t laugh—in fact, I feel like crying because I can’t stand this type of humiliation, this loss of dignity; there aren’t even words to describe what it is that I feel at times like this, it’s just a kind of deep sorrow for someone else who isn’t aware of what’s happening around them; a kind of obliviousness I guess, that eats away at me even though I’m not the victim here—but is anyone the victim here?—I look around and see raw arrogance, like people have no sense of compassion for each other, they just want to humiliate people to satisfy some deep-seated need, somewhere within them, that sates their sadistic desires; the same feeling emerges when I here other people trying to express the inner devastation I’m feeling right now, who try to inform the world that this place is messy and cruel and that there’s a certain point in contemplative thought where the mind just goes numb and screams incessantly, through song, written words, spoken words, through screen and even action; it’s like the climax of absurdity, which one simply cannot fathom and thus their imagination takes over—but I am no artist, no creator of sorts; and thus I must sit here and watch a man become a victim to throngs of rapacious, ignorant, grinning vermin who have no respect for emotion whatever; who trot around every day as if it will last forever, fueling their superficial experience of life until the End of Days. But not me; no, I have to face it and try to explain it to myself and question myself as to whether what is happening and what it evokes are really valid, as if some sorceress may have veiled my world-stage in an act of fruitless, reckless deception; I have to get that tugging feeling in my stomach when I see people reproaching others unnecessarily, or making derogatory remarks because it gets them off somehow; this world, for me, is just tears waiting to flow down my cheeks, as if there are tiny trenches already there, awaiting the inevitable deluge—the river that flows all year round, and that only flows harder when I attempt to dam it.