Have you ever gone through a face where you know what you need to do, but have no desire to do it?
Have you wished you could evaporate into thin air instead of going through piles of documents and listen to people rant for hours?
Have you wished that you could just chuck everything and backpack across the country or somewhere but where you are?
Have you ever wished that you were not on your own in all the depression but that someone’s fingers were entangled in yours to make sure you stay intact?
Well then I presume that you comprehend what I am trying to put into words. Feelings of rock bottom that needs be transferred to letters, and then letters on screen , and later on may be to those on paper. Black and white they be, not grey, not blue. Black and white!
The nights be way shorter than they ought to be and the days way longer than what they ought to be. Insomnia driving you mad, and the question of what you be on earth posed, re –posed and enforced to be reinforced.
What be purpose of one’s life? What be purpose of my life? Is there any worth of it, or am I worthy of it? Am I alone on this earth? Or am I part of this universe? Linked up in a web that weaves its way to the roots and cores of my within.
Am I part of this web? the web that keeps us all linked up, the one that would not let us break free, the one that would not let us fly off. Are we prisoners of this? Like an innocent victim of a spiders web that glues you into it, dragging you within the more you try to wriggle out of it.
Am I part of your life? Or are we just strangers, already having parted ways? The confusions, the mistakes committed. Be they lessons for improvement or gifts and souvenirs for a farewell that not be spoken.
How does my existence matter? Does it even matter?
My non existence would it ever matter? On the least, be it even noticed?
Would your attention lacking persona feel the presence that be missing, in the deep of its senses, or would it be merely another furniture that be shifted, dumped on the side of the road, and then left for those less privileged to pick as they pass along?
Be I that couch or the three legged chair, once within your walls, now discarded?