How Soon...?

(The first stanza is unreadable.) Scraps of bread are ripped from their mouths. They are too weak to resist the theft. They bow their heads, their eyes already closed. They sink to the floor, and curl together for warmth. They are just children who have stopped smiling, and no person or thing provokes their laughter. How soon will death claim them, out of pity for their plight? I lean forward, and change the channel... Because I've seen enough of this suffering. I close my eyes and bow my head. There is nothing I can do but pretend: Is this a rescue? a closure? a withdrawal into Self? This life I call my life is a long asphalt road. My car is going fast again. Is it completely out of control? I did not sleep last night. I will not sleep tonight. I will stare into a vast sky, wishing the stars delivered knowledge as well as light. I will park my car in some garishly lit space, then walk slowly, deliberately into the deepest night space. Blind and helpless, I will be one with the victims. I choose this fate. (This poem was inspired by the Cable TV series, TRUE DETECTIVES, Season Three,2019.)