T. Corpuz Writes

I can’t breathe. The world around me is moving too fast – sucking all the air from my lungs faster than I can inhale it. Untalented and unmotivated. Downtrodden and forgotten. A shell of the ghost I’ve sunk myself into. And now my undying breath tortures the man that remains. Gone are the days of unbridled joy and gone are the days of uncomplicated sadness. Now I stick my head beneath the waves to feel the panic of drowning. To feel something that matters. Have I put myself here of my own accord, or is this my destiny? To die – slow and painfully – over and over again. I scream out for help into the void of nothingness that lies within rather than to those around me who are eager to help. They wouldn’t understand my pain. It’s too superficial, too self-inflicted to tip the scales of their reality. I’ve shed so many layers trying to escape my pain and yet so many remain. Do they exist just to sustain my suffering? Do I exist just to suffer? This feeling i’m feeling is my most unique and yet, at the same time, it’s my most unoriginal. Humanity has endured suffering since our birth. I am no different. But can I endure? How do I remain in a world that I don’t recognize. A world that offers no comfort to the weary, and I AM weary.