The room is shrowded in a cloud of smoke. She sits and wonders. Another drag, another sip, another fucking day in a world shot to hell. There’s no escape, not really. There are no safe spaces to lay our heads at night, not without the risk of worse fates than death. Bury your head in the sand to pretend, but she can’t. There is no freedom than does not come at the cost of eternal vigilance..there is just ‘that’ in endless succession.
We fall to rise, we rise to fall. Time after time…without the slightest bit of consistency or balance. Though, not for lack of unfulfilled promises made to those who dare to dream…not without the invocation of hope so cruel, she wouldn’t wish it on her worst enemies. In the end, there is nothing left for her but this. Deep down, she’d known, it would always come to this. A part of her wonders how it could have taken so long for the moment to arrive…
She feels the transitive power of every passing second, as the walls begin to close in, but she doesn’t feel confined by them. They may spin ever so fast, her mind is dazzled. They may collapse right on top of her. As if, she cared about anything other than the end-result, even if costs her every inch that’s left of her being…As though, she couldn’t be more trapped in its anticipation than she already does.
The cold glass of the bottle meets her skin but briefly. She can barely feel it amongst the pain. Her thoughts could race, if she could see anything other than the inevitable conclusion of her actions. She knows the more she allows it to consume her, the more she loses…the more potential she wastes…the more of herself she squanders. Yet, for her, the question is only, why not? If this is all she can ever be, why pretend? If this is all she’ll ever have, why bother? If it is truly unavoidable, why the fuck not simply give in?
Tired of dealing with the problems of others, she failed to prevent for herself, as she simply wasn’t fast enough. Disheartened by initiating the positive change, she’s never granted no matter how hard she tries… She does not need this life, nor does she deserve its rewards. Failing always, it is lesson after lesson just to see how far she can break. She used to scramble for the pieces of herself, she lost along the way…Now she leaves them behind as a reminder of how she will never be whole, unless she would fucking care enough to redeem herself.
Another life, another try? Two fingers of whiskey linger on the side. Without a craving, she watches the ice melt….turning up the music so loud, she cannot hear her own thoughts nor would she wish to. Everything she feels drifts away, until not even the capacity to feel remains. Biding her time, until there is no choice anymore…until they come to take all that is left of her. If they had the mental ability to lay a hold on what defines her, she’d give herself over willingly, but they are too weak of heart, mind and spirit.
Half the time, she’s about to crack further, but doesn’t mind. She secretly likes seeing all the hidden pieces of herself sprawled out over the place. The other half, they bring her back to life, merely by feeding her misconceptions and watch her stumble for the truth…Yet, when they approach her, no matter how many times, she offers the kind smile, helpful word or a chance, she never got. Each time, she advises them not to shut doors, they may not be able to open again. Each time, she pleads with them that things will invariably get better…and every damn time, she dies a little inside. For them, it probably might be true, just not for her…Perhaps, she wouldn’t want it any other way.
Knowing deep down what we are, just drives our collective urge for extinction…for utter self-destruction. It cant be stopped or postponed, and neither can she.
As though, the last of anything could satiate our desire for more. After death, we long for the same all the more. Knowing her, she gave up leaping in expectation long ago. Even now, she’ll never stop trying to fly instead of fall… To never give in, when there is still something worth fighting for.