I’m so damn tired of it, all the hurt, the fear, the wondering.
I feel as though my world is starved for light, for hope, and I am running, ever aimless, through the swirling sea of terror and distrust.
Pain is my ally, fear is my companion, and yet I loathe them. I loathe them as the grave, for ever closer to it do they drag me.
I want to be enraptured in the caring arms of friendship, simply held, as a child, assured of my safety and security. But a fruitless hope is this, for none exist that may grant it.
And so I sit by, whispered to by the vain, oppresive voices and murmers, a dreadful, eerie sound of suffering. Without penance or hope, I retreat in vain to the security of my secret place, but good it does to me not.
And so I rot to destruction, as a worm riddled fruit, sitting beneath the weight of the rage, the hate, the doubt. Afraid to rise, and seize the day, content to wallow in the mire of my bloodied soul. Bogged down by the terror, of the outside world.
T’was but a mere fleeting thought, to believe for a moment that it would once be lifted.
0 Like | 2 comments