Now it's broken. You have many things to explain next morning, and so much rash to cover with makeup. For now, you’re useless. You have lost control of the essential functions of life. You cannot even monitor the way you breathe. The floor is an extension of a sprawling piece of meat, all is ground and grey, the tile is not black and white anymore.
You try to remember how you became this, and why are you not able to move your hands. And then realise something, your arm is broken. And you remember, your soul was broken before. The pain is irrigating as the blood is colouring the room. There’s no sensation can be described as any other than pain, it has been there too long there’s no remedy or escape. Why did you fall that way?
The transcendence can be achieved in many ways, but also can be no sense. And then realise the shame you will be explaining how this happen, trying to hide the truth. You won’t say that you lose the battle again, that anxiety invaded, that it was the only option. You won’t talk about the desperation of going out, the urgency to finish all this pain. Because the pain is something, no one else can understand. You won’t talk to anyone else because the deep of the feeling is as infinite as the universe.
And then you question again, what were wrong? What failed now? And you move the mess of bones and meat; you try to recompose your figure, to recover the composure. Your eyes are moving looking for the moment of failure, the instant that went out of the plan, and the impulse that allow the suffering to be larger. And you called it life, despite the fact it was only a bad knot you missed to tie.
Comentarios
Publicar un comentario