It hurts to know the truth. It hurts even more when you know you can’t do anything about it.
Maybe, you can. But what’s worse is not knowing what. I feel like a sordid mass of junk. I’m crying out for the heavens to save me. Everything has it’s own way in life and I’m sure there’s something in store here too. But it’s depressing to know that I am not able to figure that out.
Yes, it hurts.
Dexterous would be, an innocuous plan to keep falling, alas, the more I want, the less I am able to defy gravity. Most definitely, it hurts.
It hurts when I’m reminded of the way I’m apparently ‘throwing’ a lucky life away. I keep trying, desperately to hold on, to figure out what went wrong. What I should be doing, what I can do.
But nothing ever works out to these sinful whims.
And that, hurts.
It hurts because I am not able to satiate even a single fraction of my existence, may it be a thing, an individual, or a complicated string of emotion.
People frustrate me. Facing the same diurnal cycle of the moons each day. I feel trapped. Suffocated, up to the brim. Fear of crowds, of people asking questions.
I have begun to fear people.
I have tried. To quit. Complaints, faults, procrastinating. Yet, ephemeral these attempts remained.
Perhaps, because I felt no need. You’re right, I should be done being seven. It drives me crazy to not know what tomorrow’s going to offer. That’s possibly why I revert back to the days I felt I had no pain. But then, every day’s been a struggle and it’s now that I’m resting.
And just when I thought I’d approached calm, the eye of the storm, everything hurts.
x EdgyShark x