midnight blues

After a break there’s a lot to say, there’s a lot to do but for now I’m content to know that my detour is winding down and I’m finding my way back to myself.

What is infinity if not a mirage. What are words if not a garage. A garage where thoughts come to park, a garage where a perfectly fine fuse can spark. A garage where darkness is as important as light, if not more. A garage where you can sit and adore or abhor, the space is always yours; turn it into a workshop or a garbage dump, the choice is always yours. Will you turn on the light and gather the floating parts to craft something beautiful or will you stay in the darkness letting the parts hit you into crafting something haunting. Or will you ignore that space altogether as a mere attachment to your house, left alone forever to grow or rot—you’ll never know.

I had my good day, I enjoyed it, I loved it and myself and it ended the moment I opened my eyes to the morning sun rays. Now, I just want this misery to end. I just want everything to end. And everyone to go far away from me. I want to go far away from everyone. It’s either I leave them or they become the end of my existence, knowing them they will not be happy with either scenario. No one is ever happy with me. And maybe I’m a bad person, I’m the villain no one wants in their life; then they shouldn’t have a problem cutting me off, right? I have nothing left to give, so how about they stop. I’m very empty. And if I ask them for something, they are very selfish about it. How about they stop taking from an empty shell if they never intend to give. I just want to be happy, is that really too much ask for? One good day is not enough for me, I’m selfish for more, no one is losing anything if I have a good day, right? Or are they losing something?

Weaving through the sadness, there’s numbness in the pain, expectations fail, I fall in the pit of darkness, like a laundry machine set to spin, tossing and turning me in the air, where have I reached, I see no end in sight, give me some solace, give me some peace, give me some oxygen in this dying land of dead air polluting my lungs with poison that is pushing me closer to my death, give me something to hold on to, am I really worth nothing to them, am I really allowed to disappear since they don’t seem to care, when was the last time anyone caressed my hair and asked how I am, when was the last time anyone showed they care, and why do I expect anything from them, when clearly they made a choice to not pretend to care, will they be better off when I leave, will they cry, will they miss me, will they?

Why do I expect?

My lips are eternally sealed / I don’t know me anymore / I am withering away again / missing the shed that covered my fragility / I’m not enough / not for me not for anyone else / trudging the thorny road leading to nowhere / if my destination is a no man’s land / can I reach there tomorrow?

If everyone is going to leave me when the tides turn against me, would it be easier for them if I disappeared and they don’t have to make that choice anymore?

We start here, in this very moment, right now.

Let me sink in the ocean, embrace the cold blue sea, fall down to the floor, and meet the creatures unknown.

When I said it is hard to breathe, the universe took it very seriously and now it is literally painful to breathe.

I’m bored and sad and tired, life is a drag and it’s made up of a pile of applications that gets thrown in the trash because that’s where they belong. I do everything right only to realise it was an illusion; my reality shatters every minute I breathe the polluted air that fill my lungs with disgust. I am nothing but a nobody who can’t figure out what it takes to live let alone what it takes to be alive. And the emotions leave, abandoning me like everyone else when I need them the most; I feel like a desert and the sand rubbing against my skin makes my skin crawl, the dryness of the air makes me itch, the scorching sun melting away whatever feelings I have left taunts me about how fragile I am. And I don’t even want to fight back anymore, but I still want to live and I loop back to trying to figure out how and getting hit by the truck called reality, reality of how incapable I am to do anything right. And a trickle of tear laces my eyes, and leaves just as quickly leaving me alone with nothing and more nothingness.

I’ll get there.

Forget about it. Put it to rest. Let the words decay in the rotting brain. Do not put them to test.