Bleak Flow of Existence

Bleak stretch of time comes crawl in, always unannounced, and overlooked. They grab you by a bombshell, and when you look for the bullets you cannot even find a trigger to confront with them.  All you can manage to survive with is some old songs of faded times that made you felt better once.

You are just there, breathing, and just knowing you are alive and not even wanting to pull through, you stay paralyzed, letting yourself be deluge and swamp by the waves, trying to be comforted in allowing the water over your head, enfolding you in a tight nuzzle, with a ghostly mysterious bond that this agony, this suffering, and this distress is yours and yours alone.   And will it ever let you go? When will it end?

You are in a journey full of masquerades and dark tunnels, thinking if there will ever be light at the end of it, which all still seems hopeless.

When words are all you can confide to, because your caste and country will never understand.  You have attempted to communicate, to legitimize, to unfold, to beseech, and to cry – The world can be such a pitiless wicked place. Irregularly, misadventure cannot be made better.  They are those barbarian beasts which feed on you, devouring away at every bits of ambitions and dreams you had.                                                                                                      

They have deluded you, rejected you, well read all your anxiety and fragility, concocted and framed behind your back.  You believed they were amiable persona.  But in time of darkness they exhibit their rightly faces, they strike out continuously, never-ending until you have been impelled to your knees.  A dejected, blue woeful slug of a being, a good-for-nothing, a snake, some non-being, that they will crumbly crush under their feet.

Then you mislay your stability. You no longer know the meaning of argumentation, of what is ethical or inexact, of who is precisely right, or who is inaptly wrong.

Your feelings forge to the salvage as best they possibly can, and all you freely want to do is cry, release them all out, allow the pain to retrieve from the dark times of your sufferings, and throbs and screams, feel the fresh inhales of air. 

I am still living, I survived – The only gadget that heals pain is patience and time. (Je suis toujours vivant, j’ai survécu – Le seul gadget qui guérit la douleur est la patience et le temps).  

(Please note that writings are my original properties!)

8 thoughts on “Bleak Flow of Existence

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