The emptiness I feel inside. The pain I’ve been through. The tears I have cried for over 25 years are nothing when compared to what is inside. Sadness refuses to leave me alone. The continuous back-lashing, the irresistible seduction of fear, sorrow, and loneliness. Stuck between pain and pleasure not knowing where do I stand.
I look deep down inside and I see ashes and thin pillars of smoke. An empty void that goes beyond my will digging deep down reaching the no end. I look around me and all I can see is what seems to be human beings. No faces, no voices, and no emotions. I don’t know what should I say or how to react.
Disrespect and dishonesty have reached beyond the sun, so enjoyable, so addictive. Then comes failure, or rather fear of failure. There is always a reason for every thing because everything happens for a reason, except for this. I write to fill the emptiness inside, because I do nothing better than this. Because it is all I have got and is usually where I want to be.
Soulless bodies walk around with bent backs and pale faces, swollen eyes and messy hair, let alone the unlatching colours of fabrics covering the emptiness in a shape of what seems to be bodies.
Fighting for someone’s cause because you’re privileged, or maybe because you speak better English. Claiming to be the best at what you do while realizing that you can’t do it because you lack the skills along with whatever is on the list.
The fear of going back to the starting point. Of looking them in the eye and feel all this pettiness they carry within. Talking about you behind your back, calling you names, besides your new name, Failure.
Is it too late to go back? Is going back even considered an option anymore? It is not the time to regret because regretting things won’t resurrect the dead.
I am dead.