Feelings of worthlessness engulfs my optimism as I lay lifeless on an antiquated couch, pondering on my self-worth.
Disappointment engendered by my failures in life lingers in my thoughts, as I question my purpose on earth.
Botched efforts to distract myself serves as temporary relief, but reality re-emerges—dousing what’s left of my oxygen-deprived flame.
My pericardium struggles to uphold my heart—it is heavy and filled with regrets. Arteries are crying; bleeding out the shame .
Veins erect like fibrous roots leeching on scarce nutrients. My life is deficient—hopelessness has devoured my aspirations.
I keep climbing mountains with rugged terrains —covered with sharp rocks, thorns, and shadowed by clouds of tribulations.
Storms are poised at the mountain’s peak, waiting to trigger a landslide—to mimic the pattern of my life.
Conspicuous remnants of my blood trails the path I’m treading—I am wounded. I am numb to pain, so discard the knife.
A despondent soul cries out, only to be answered by echoes of sorrow. I walk a road of emptiness, hoping to fill a void.
My eyes are like thirsty sponges, absorbing every tear drop that tries to escape. My soul dries out, I am becoming a droid.
My saliva crystallizes in my throat—an attempt to swallow feels like swallowing broken glass.
I long for a drink of purpose—a tall glass of hope. It is imperative that I find an everlasting river to quench my thirst, for I must lead others to the source to take a drink.
© Jenoy Merchant and merchantwritesagain.wordpress.com, 2018