'Sing for absolution' I talked to the darkness of the night, the shadow sitting on the wall of my loneliness, and as I talked I was soulless, I was flat, part of a black and white portrait. So I ran, I ran to my mother seeking hope. My mother was hypnotized, sedated by the flashy vibrations that came out of the box and kept repeating like a programmed chip orders and rules when I wanted compassion, understanding to ease my pain. My pain of feeling, inside a concrete box abstracted from feelings. The machines diagnosed my sickness, they called it emotions and I was sent to get the right treatment to subtract and join the running train of routine, mundane and ordinary. I entered a clinic of madness, the shadow sat with his back facing me and played sing for absolution as the music made rain fall like dead bullets crying over the absence of souls. The doctor asked for me to take a seat in the waiting room and that he’ll be seeing me shortly. The waiting room had no walls, no ceiling, a very long red sofa was placed, I vaguely saw the end of it. I sat on one corner as he sat on the opposite, unreal, deep and uncanny almost like a figment of pure imagination as rain dropped down on his beautiful head. Flashy screens popped like cat-eyes and a woman with a speaker appeared like the ones in talk shows and asked me to tell the world how it is like to posses such a defect, out of the programmed thing as feelings? I cried.