Is it enough to just be alive? Isn’t it pointless to keep pretending? What difference does it make to continue breathing if all that I have inside is a catacomb full of dry bones?
I feel so weak, as if nothing is within my power. Not even my own life. I am forced to accept the will and the decisions of others. I am pushed to act according to their standards, their dreams and unreasonable expectations. I am dragged around like a rag doll. I can’t escape. I am so tied up to their ankles…
“Listen to me, dammit!”, but my mouth won’t fucking open. Is it because I have no choice? Is it because I’ll lose everything? Is this really all that I am, all that I have? Is it all just my fault?
How can I give voice to what’s inside of me if I have no voice to begin with? I don’t even feel like trying… I got so used to not saying anything that I forgot what it means to use words.
I feel so thin, so small. I feel like my bones became translucent. I feel like I’m slowly evaporating. I’m not making any progress. I’m stagnant. And stagnance is the enemy of creativity.
My head hurts. Thousands of fingers are trying to dig their way out. I’m trapped in the eyes of a stranger.
Just, please, devour me already. A pathetic being like myself should not exist.
Writing, Reading, Living, but mostly Hiding 