The sound of a creaking wardrobe door is physically painful
Sunshine is too overwhelming, a grey day too unbearable to endure
The slightest noise can wear me down, the smallest inconvenience and I want to give up
Loneliness summons my excruciating past, in people’s company I am lonely
A festering distress that neither heals or dies but manifests into new fresh wounds
I carry the titanic weight of myself every minute of every passing hour, the deadness of my bones, the stiffness of my joints, my shed and smothered tears, an eternal echoing of every heartbreak.
I can’t. Even though I’m trying, I can’t. It’s too hard – waking up every day and knowing that – this is all there is - to keep on living - the dreariness - the repetition – pushing forward in this drudgery – this meaningless swamp of chewed-up and spat words – the hordes of paper cut people and their mouths – their severe crushing mouths – the submissive revolving doors of threatening looming buildings – shuttered windows of ancient tired houses – and the same old cycle of seasons - the fathomless suffering of wars – the brutality of human hands and human faces.
I urge myself to face the day, every movement forced and labored, the arduous effort of getting dressed, the piercing agony of the creaking wardrobe.