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 sunken 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 exhilaration of fear. To feel something that matters. To liberate my mind, but my soul remains. But still, I do remain.
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 in the same way it does mine. I’ve shed so many layers trying to escape my pain and yet so many more layers 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. But still, I remain.
Weary from my travels through the realm of man. A place that offers no respite to my kind. My fall was not far enough to register on any scale but my own, and yet it still tore through the fabric of my former consciousness. And now I remain; but to what end? To distill my sadness into words in a failed attempt to recover who I used to be? This can’t be what I was meant for. For I was told that greatness awaited on the other side. How wrong they were. How wrong I was. But still, I remain.
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