Journal #3 – Oblivion

He lays awake at night
His body dead and limp, slumped on his bed
While his mind is awake, all neurons and synapses
Firing, working at full capacity

He wonders who he is,
Who everyone else is deep within
Hidden from sight by
The façade that is kept on
Around others, people who will judge you
For being who you are
For being what you are

His mind is a mess, his heart in tatters
Utterly destroyed from the weight
Of Existence
Of being and walking and talking and thinking and LIVING
He is gone now, nothing left but
A shrivelled heap of what he once was, a hollow shell,
A walking corpse

Those who are most destroyed, most broken,
Are the ones with the largest hearts,
The greatest souls
And so….
They latch themselves onto others
To stop them
From becoming what they have become

But there is a gleaming light,
A single fragment of hope and life left
In this sepia landscape, this living hell
He latches onto it and slowly…
Bit by bit…
He becomes himself again,
Life and colour seeping into everything
Making everything seem okay

But suddenly there is an avalanche,
A torrent determined to beat and wear
You down to nothing, to make you feel sorrow and
Make you regret you existence, your birth and
You pray for Oblivion, for death
For a respite in this hell

The everlasting fires of hell
The torrential rain and wind
The shaking ground
They do not let go this time
They do not give any respite
Or chance to recover from the battlescars
And so…

He climbs the staircase,
Each step a mountainous journey,
Each landing a desolate, burning plane
Until finally he reaches the roof, the final journey

He walks to the edge, every little detail imprinted
Upon his mind while
Everything he has seen plays over,
Showing him his life one last time

He has reached the edge, the final jump
A single step from enlightenment
He thinks everything over, says his final goodbyes
To deaf ears and utters a final, silent prayer
He takes the step

The wind rushes over his face,
His body headed for the ground
His body hits the ground and is no more

His body lies at awkward angles
Bone protruding, puncturing the skin
Blood coating the muddied walls
He is no more and no-one cared
Until it was too late

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