This is how I feel constantly.
Hell, it just might be what I even see or hear.
Just existing for the sake of only that. To tell people that never ask, "Yeah, I'm still here."
But am I alive? Am I living?
I feel dead. It is not as cold or lifeless as a corpse but a strong second that wants to lead into the first.
Always questioning the need to thrive in a world that sees itself in its own hues while everything and everyone designs it devoid of color.
While I write or type out these inane thoughts and emotions as if they still have any meaning.
Holding onto a hope that has long been hollow.
Years of degrading like a condemned building. Trapped behind dark and moldy walls.
Sometimes missing what little comfort I thought I felt within the confines of a mental institution.
Laying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, then sometimes holding my breath and playing dead for as long as possible.
Trying to ignore all the voices calling and yelling out or the entities your mind loves to show you.
Wanting to forget being an ill loner since childhood.
Just long enough to hopefully sense myself turning with the Earth on its axis. And finally feel something at last other than existential dread.
Then, questioning one's existence once we notice the hue of the rising sun.
All because of the need to forget everything uncomfortable when you remember there was bliss in your ignorance.
Wishing you were dead just so you'd stop being morbidly curious about it.
I'll go back to being quiet now.
areudirty
germansingergirl
titsay
romaincrisis
dailybridgerton
origamiaround