Eventually, there will be nothing left; nothing left to hold on to and nothing to come back to but the broken pieces of what used to be a heart. A heart now stitched together with tattered threads and a rusty needle. I could die from the infections of my own actions. I'm a man without a soul, without breath, without a heart. I stroll the corridors of life with nothing inside me. Everything around me is chaos and I bear on my rough dry skin scars of different falls. I'm numb to the pain that kills others, numb to the hurt bracing me from all sides. It scares me not. It keeps me awake at night and swings me between insensitivity and a place of no trust.
Hear me cry out for help! Hear me boast of my weakness and how I pride myself on my flaws. My life is far from perfect, it's not even good enough but I'm a work in progress. I'm an ongoing sentence full of letters and punctuation marks. I'm a work in progress in every aspect of my life. My mind often settles on the reality with which I cope everyday. I''m already dead, I'm just waiting for life to take it's course and whisk me away. I walk the streets in the dead of night with a death wish hanging over my head. I see life slash my wrists with harsh truths and it watches in silence as I slowly bleed to death. Nothing is lost at this point. I'm the origin of chaos, beautiful and awesome. Fear me not for I'm the pain you feel in your heart. the pain that creeps up on you in the happy unsuspecting hours of your life. I'm the pain that's killing me.
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I wish you would tell me something every now and then....