Lament of a Friend

It was obviously a ridiculous thing that putting a scotch tape on me is the beginning of the end.

It was two long years of service. You’re the boss, I’m the servant. It was slightly favourable.

I like the thought of it - giving you the pleasure you desire as the main purpose of why I existed here. Every beating of your hands against your knee satisfies me. It tells me how you enjoy it. You pushed and pulled me several times through that electric realm, making me scream audible pleasure.

I can feel your tremendous yearning to bring me anywhere you want to. I can’t help but to obey you. I promised myself to accept the fact that I’m your slave - a replaceable servant that has an obscure significant role in every tick of the travel clock. Remember how we used to sing our hearts out and being nonchalant to the surrounding distressed faces inside the train? It left me a lasting sensation of euphoria.

When I was (literally) hanging around with you, I can feel your heart pounding through your chest, synchronizing to my artificial beat. The feeling of my body grasping your body, it’s remarkable. It was an epic, colossal and stupid move when you cocked your head and felt the absence of the half of me. That instant, I knew that I’m facing a death sentence.

You know sometimes, I feel that I’m just your insipid tool. You never loved me nor took great care of me. I’m not that fragile but there is a truth that bothers me.

I broke up, we broke up. It was unnerving.

Barely breathing, I continued to serve you. After all, my body still can be considered as a “body”. Half of me was having silent protests but you’re too dominant to resist.

As the days passed by, I grew more apprehensive. Both of my mouth didn’t function well. My voice cracks, my throat sores and my feet sprains. I’m wearing this transparent veil, unaware of the consequences that might come tangling in our way, just like when I’m tangled and you impatiently solve my puzzle. I’m a feeble creature, so is your patience.

Then you used that tape. It was gross - that sticky, greasy and annoying feeling of plastic sheets around my body. My voice became an epitome of destruction and weariness. It was horrible. I stood there, anxiously waiting for my end. For “our” end.

Having been dumped by you in this crazy place made me realize how most of your kind plays this game called “The user and the used”. That in every chance taken by the user was indirectly proportional to the chances of the used.

This gloomy night, I flew my way through the trash bin. My buds cracked and my wires were skinned.

It was a nice view, seeing your face delighted with my replacement - your new Beats earphones.