Slow Death

In the clock tick routine day, there comes at times a moment that forces you to think, to ask, to search, to belong. The once blissful solitude suddenly screams with the pain of lonliness and makes you wonder did you always make only the wrong choices. You try to serach the super confident optimism that once echoed, life is what you make it. You dial a number and probably never get through and if you do you never reach to the person you once knew. You open a book your all time best buddy and somehow each word seems to ask you another question until you are lost in the thoughts that make you wonder who is real, what is surreal. You play your favorite songs and each perhaps makes you feel more incomplete than ever. You plead, you writhe, you beg for release, until you become a slave of your own emotions. And that which was once your strength seems to have ruined you until there is no repaid. Tears don't help, the pain is too sharp, you know there is no healing and no turning back either. You dig deeper, open wounds, let the hurt flow, until you are drenched and your spirit turns blue...acheful.
Then comes the end, you slowly kill, bury, and write your own tombstone, "Here lies a me, who once knew joy, who once loved selflessly, who once danced to the song of life......now I am dead." The ritual done, you are ready to exist and wind yourself up into the next tick of the clock, cold, morbid, waiting to kill again.

-Monica