Its a Long Way Down

Stupid really, to write this when I could be doing so many other things. Sitting in a crowded room, where no one else notices. A silent hope, that someone somewhere will understand. Maybe I’m just one of them, the over depressed, young, dumb ones who are too blind to see what they have. What to be thankful for. There is so much. A house, a family, money in my pocket and an opportunity to speak my mind. But there’s something there, something out of reach. A dream that will never be realised.

Ever the darkness encroaches in on me. Death is such a reality. It could happen any day now. And I slip back and lose all the stories in my head, maybe go to hell to be tortured for an eternity for my insolence. It would be better, I think, to burn. Better to burn and remember, then to stop existing all together. But who’s to say there is even a soul? My most treasured memories never happened. They were naught but words on a page. How can life live up to that?

No matter where I go or what I do no life situation can compare to the ebony towers of my mind. Life is so monotone to me, so distasteful and useless. We go through the motions to feed our bodies so our minds won’t die, but does it really matter? The comparison of dreams, of debts and accomplishments. Does it matter? No. Not me. I don’t have passion for anything in this world. Some stories told fascinate me, but all else is a distraction. A distraction from the looming fact that I am going to die, and there is nothing I can do about it.

So why, then, do I waste my time? With school, with work. Other than to feed myself I have no desire to do either. No desire to prove them wrong. They look at me like trash because I have not risen like they have. There are only a few who truly care for what I am on the inside, only a few who truly understand, and they cannot be bought by credentials. They do not judge, but worry. For when I die as do they. I don`t know what I`d do if I lost them. There would be no point, to existing even. I don`t want to be reincarnated, if they`re not there with me.

All these worries of the day keep me from them. All the things I have to do to feed my body, and keep from being frowned upon by those who supposedly love me creep into my mind and keep inspiration at bay. What then can I do, when I am exhausted and staring at a looming monster. When I am trapped beneath all the activities that I must do, with no help, and an army of outsiders trying to pull me down. Because none of them know, and those who do don`t care enough to stop, to help. I want to disappear. Leave somewhere to just take down my stories without them.

I could. Just go. I have the money. I have the ability. I could run off. Take a bus somewhere and never come back. Wouldn`t that be grand? There isn`t much left for me here anyway. A string of broken promises, and lies. When I think of all those who would be upset to see me go I remember that they don`t know, don’t understand. They don`t love me the way I love them. No one does. Only the ones who I know inside out can truly understand me, what I need. But they don`t provide food, or shelter. They can`t keep my body from dying.

This is so unlike me, crying in a public place. But no one seems to notice, or they’re trying to ignore it. I’m glad. If they asked, I know exactly what I’d say. I can feel the day coming. That dreaded day when I’ll have to choose. I can feel it, coming in. I have a few weeks before a golden opportunity. So much time I’ve wasted on this world. Another fake holiday, filled with fake smiles and accomplishments I’m not proud of. Maybe it’s time to rethink my path, and cut lose the strands that keep me held here. After all, this place has done little good for me in the past few years.