Obliteration

The feeling when your heart is flung into the darkest parts of despair is the worst. And this is my attempt to describe it.

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1. Obliteration

I feel it.

I feel her spreading to each section of my body, telling me that she is back.

The darkness has finally succeeded in obliterating every thought, every word, every feeling that I might have once possessed.

I see her grimy hands slip around her luminary clock, which winks at me from her neck, as it dangles. How they mock me! The clock's radiance sends my heart to burn up into ash and smoke, while the night's razor sharp hands scathe me, as they try to reach for me. I scream.

Once, there used to be hope.

She would spread her soft feathery wings and curl them around my heart, warming it. She would tell my mind to never give up, say that she knows how hurt I am and  that she knows how it feels. She would plead with me to trust her. She promised me that the tears would stop falling, that the pain wouldn't last and that my heart would heal itself. But just as the others, she is a liar.

So, I have shunned her to the darkest corners of my soul, where this beautiful creature's mind was tinted with poison and tar. Now, she quietly ponders through my mind, conspiring with life, dreams, love and darkness to ruin me. I plead with her once in a while, but she gives me a cold look and drives a dagger through my heart, which stays there for too long.

That's when the saddest kind of pain comes. Your tears can't drop, you feel nothing. It's just like the world has ended. You don't hear, you don't see, you don't cry. You just stay there.

And for a moment, your heart dies.

I have stopped hiding, trying to pretend that everything is okay, because no matter where I go, life casts a cold shadow on me and jeers into my face. I used to want to be free, to survive.

But now I want more. I want to live.

Then there is love.

She is a shadow, slithering behind my heels, reminding me of my open wounds that never heal, trying to trip me up. She was once a pleasant presence, just like hope. She would lift my heart and caress it, but one day she decided that it must have been too cold, so she dropped it.

Down it fell, to the darkest and coldest parts of hell, past the point of being rescued. It smashed into a million of tiny pieces, each longing and crying for one more touch, one more kiss, one more word. But how do you get back up, if there is nothing to hold onto?

It is like you have been hurt, you are so terrified of getting attached again, that you have this fear that every person you see will rip out your heart and smile at your face, while watching you in pain.

I am weak, because I have not been strong enough.

I am foolish, because I have not been wise.

I am afraid, because I have never been dauntless.

The last conspirer is life.

She is the worst of all, because she controls them all; love, dreams, hope, darkness and fear. I have not encountered her too often, because I have been surviving, not alive. But when I do, there is no where to hide.

She is selfish, arrogant and cold. She enjoys to watch me squirm and cry after my old companions, who are now her allies. She smiles crookedly at me in a horrid way, reminding me that my life is crooked too. Most people have bumps and cracks along the way. But what have I?

I have no road at all.

It has been annihilated, so I am stranded in this pit of darkness like a stuck record, never able to get out from the inferno. It's like poison being slowly poured through your ear, first the pain comes easy, then all of the sudden.  

I used to dream.

Dreams are the only pure and noble creatures left. They give me a detour, an escape from the pain and hurt, into a world where there is only happiness.

But even so, they are constantly being murdered by reality.

The only asylum left is the place between asleep and awake, the place where you can still remember dreaming.

That's where I will always

love him.

It's where  I will always be

waiting.

 

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