Slow death

Being in a room full of people and feeling more alone than ever just because there are some that create a distance and are not willing to bring you closer to make you feel a part of the group of people you are hanging out with. Melodies, faces, places…people with a blurry look, erased faces, bodies like shades that slowly fade away, mixed colours that change rapidly due to the movement of bodies in the room and having the power of the speed from the movement presented in a light wind that blows your hair…now your eyes focus on a random point of the room and your mind that has been seeking a time to be switched off, finally rests…but this annoying hand waving in front of your currently blank look switches your mind on again. The thoughts that have been previously ignored emerge again…they start going round and round your mind again, they crush, they re-emerge, they mix and get more and more complicated…like in a hurricane of words, feelings and images…that hits you and swallows you in. You decide to stop resisting and you let yourself drown…you are knackered…tired of fighting, tired of trying, tired of aiming and living. You are letting yourself be conquered by the power of this hurricane and you wish for relief…you wish that all these thoughts will reach a point when while crushing they will break to pieces and will never re-emerge. This hurricane though spins you round and round…pulls you up and throws you on the ground. The thoughts are lashing you leaving scars on your body but there’s nothing like the wounds you have on your heart. Wounds that are too deep, wounds that never heal…now the lashes reach them and wipe them…making them worse. You ache but you’re used to this pain…you are out of power to resist, you are out of hope for it to stop…you just stand the whole situation. It will reach an end…or will it? You can’t dream anymore of something better…you are unable to create the gate for the dreamland you visit when you need to escape…and now you’re finally unable to think…finally your brain is switched off for good…and then goes your heart…but the wind doesn’t leave your eyes shut…You’re just a worn out body, a piece of flesh, soul-less, brain-dead, and heart-less…you’re just a thing…just an object…you turn into grey…you turn into charcoal…so when the hurricane stops there will be another soul to use you as charcoal to sketch his/her own story…but you won’t be there to prevent it…now you’re gone…

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