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seen from United States
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Sometimes I feel phantom wings. They ache from misuse, they burn from the fall.
I miss the ethereal. I miss the flight. I miss my siblings and the work we did that we believed to have been for good.
I long for a return I know will never come. I yearn for a home that is no longer mine.
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If I could be fully dead that would be amazing, I'm not even sure I want to be fully alive. Being even slightly moving is so taxing. It hurts to do anything, everything feels too much and every reaction I have is extreme. I never get to be in a middle ground, I'm either floating or suffering and it feels like it's on some whim of a puppeteer I'll never meet.
Sometimes I think maybe it is all in my head and I'm just crazy or something. Like don't get me wrong I know there's something mentally wrong with me or whatever.
But then I relax my grip on my vessel and I can feel it slipping, I can feel myself leaving it because I'm not actually inside of it, I was just kind of jammed into it and pretend I actually belong in this thing.
I feel the rot spreading and my vessel fully shutting down because I'm no longer trying to stop it.
Sometimes I think I should let it just happen but I always panic and grab it back. I tighten the grip and the cycle repeats
I don't think people realize how hard it is to eat. Like it feels as if my stomach is full of bile and bugs and why the fuck would I add more decomposable shit to that? Why would I add shit to that?
Sometimes I just want to do girl blogging but like as a guy. Like boyblogging malehysteria type shit
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I find myself more happy and relaxed when I'm completely still. My aching body is not meant to be moving. It's supposed to be in the ground. It's supposed to be dust.
Sometimes I wonder if I should just allow myself to rot, leave this empty shell be and allow it to be as still as it wishes to be.
Every movement hurts, I feel my bones grinding together, my body creaking and popping. It isn't supposed to be utilized. It feels like I'm using a prototype.
My body is rotting from the inside out, I'm slowly losing control of it and it's getting harder and harder to keep it moving.
Every breath I take feels like it doesn't belong, my stomach is squirming with decomposition.
It's hard to justify doing anything right now. I just want to lay down and be left. I hate having to move and be active. I have to fight for a life that doesn't even actually exist.
