This tightness in my chest hurts a bit. It feels like a suffocating weight tightening around my lungs squeezing the air out
The gravity of the situation. The decisions I have to constantly make.
The hate I get for those decisions. The unfiltered hate filled words pouring over me like noxious gas filling my insides and melting my skin
I wish I could talk to you about it. Any of it
Maybe you’d have something to say. Maybe you’d do me a favor and not say anything
Maybe you’d just look at me like someone trying to understand what’s in front of them
Not with mild irritation or blatant contempt
Maybe you’d just look at me and say nothing
Would that really be so bad? So odd? To sit together and be understood for a minute
Just kidding. I hate myself too. Every embarrassing second. Every disgustingly clumsy fumble. Every overly saturated movement or gesture. My stomach turns at the thought of my own face. My own fragmented spirit.
It’s lonely and dark
Decrepit and sick
A hollowed forever home in my heart for everything I am and ever will be. Everything I always was.
A place built just for me and me alone. A place you’ll hopefully never see. Depths and bottom layers of my mangled existence you’ll never reach. Down there where the sludge is darker than black and thicker than blood. Trapped in a soft orb of light shielding out the darkness it creates is where you’ll find me
Watching nothing and waiting for no one
There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to be. No one to talk to. Nowhere to run. Perpetually forced to keep going like a sick game I unwittingly became a part of. The first chapter of a sordid never-ending anthology nowhere near completion
