Growing Void

 

I remember feeling this way back then. I remember thinking, what a stale bread, what a life to shread. And before I realize it fully, I become numb.

The process of detachment is hard for your soul, while you try to compensate it with looking decent in your latest internet selfie. You thought, not again. But here you are, being tested once again to the limit of infinity. Who knows, right? Not you, or the person next to you. It's all a big secret of the sky, a mystery to drawn you closer to your best potential. They promise you will like the person you'll become, depite the constant sadness you feel holding back the lump in your throat. As if letting it slide will drop you to the category: shame of the town.

I am numb.

Now I can say I do not feel or think as much as I was before. I simply wake up and fall asleep based on the assigned time table. I do my part, and the rest of the day is used to staring blankly to the wall. The wave is settle, the wind die down, and my shore is a bed of shreded glass. It is pretty under the sun, gleaming like fallen stars if you use your telescope during the day. I send down the flame in a dugged pit. I let it rest. If this is the death of me, I wonder why the next morning is exactly the same blues. As if, being kept for the sake of finishing my sentences.