Screams In The Void

This is anguish.  Not a phase. Not a metaphor. A weight that breathes with me. When meaning collapses, life becomes emptier than death. Death concludes. Life prolongs. One ends. The other insists. The throat dries.  The eyes shut, not to sleep, but to disappear. There is no escape while the heart keeps working like a traitor. A prison without walls.  A sentence with no crime. Time scars my face—not with wisdom or freedom, but with erosion. Slow. Indifferent. I am worn down, not lived in. I can’t carry it anymore. Bonds unravel.  Sense dissolves. I drift in a violent ocean of doubt— no north, no shore, only rotation. The pull of nowhere.  Why do you take my peace?  Silence turns predatory. Cold. Calculated.  A horror that doesn’t scream—it waits. I empty myself of pain again and again,  yet it remains embedded, driven into the marrow. Words fail because they are too clean.  My eyes are more honest. They overflow, then shut tight,  search...

I remain.  Inside a world that caves in daily, while others wave it off as a phase. Reaching those within arm’s length is effortless— but where, truly, are your fingertips? This road is solitary. Always was. Always will be. Mirages bloom around me, landscapes that promise nothing and deliver less. I lived. I waited.  For something that may never come— not today, not tomorrow. Spare me your rehearsed wisdom, your sugar-coated faith,  your tender lies. I drift at the core of disillusion. Here, hell is not symbolism.  It is geography. And who cares?  No one. Insomnia. Anguish. Perdition. I do not feel pain on the skin— I feel it where language fails. Everything here is invisible, and no one looks long enough to see. I fill pages with questions. They multiply. They mock me. I look left. I look right. They are here. They are there. They are nowhere. If I scream today, who hears? If I bleed today, who stops it? If I die today, they will cry. Because tears repla...

I miss nothing. No one. Longing is translucent—I ask myself where it went, how it would ever fill my chest if it still existed. Yesterday I died, and what remains is a void: no touch, no scent, no color, no glow. Only silence. I miss nothing. No one. They were all there. Every one of them. And from above I watched their souls, their smiles, from a plane stitched into reality itself. That was where I stood. Those people had never seen each other, never spoken, never existed to one another before the moment I bound them together. I connected life to life, turned strangers into acquaintances, acquaintances into friends, friends into family. I miss nothing. No one. Yet like an old film reel, life runs through my eyes, carrying memories of something that may have existed only for me. Where would they be if not there? I laid every stone of that path. Today, I no longer know how to walk it back—nor return to it at all. I miss nothing. No one. I watched as if they were all celebrating th...