LIFE. Everything including nothing is like a dream. It could be pleasant, strange, relaxing or terrible. Sometimes you can control it, but other times it just slips away from you, like water slipping from cupped hands. It begins once you enter the realm of sleep and ends when you awaken. As for me, the nightmare I’ve been in battle with is gone, but I refuse to wake and thus, another dream has come to take its place. It’s a dream of the past. A dream of gratifying days that have gone of which I long to regain. But the past can never be retrieved, nor should it be. Everything has changed. The world has changed and I must change with it. I must become part of it; else I will weaken and die in the prison in which I have locked up myself to. To change and be part of the altering world is not easy, when apart from the prison; I’ve destroyed bridges, so nothing will cross it and built barriers against it. I’ve done all these because it hurts to know that the world where I belong doesn’t understand me. Not even the closest people I have. And because of this I hurt them, too. It aches bitterly, the wound that had not touched the flesh, but have torn apart the soul. They don’t understand this. None of them can. They don’t know what I’ve been through, what I’ve suffered from the turmoil going on inside my mind. Once, I cried in silent anguish, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. It burns inside, heavy in my chest, bitter in my throat and stings the eyes. I pleaded to God and asked Him why. I paused, listening in the stillness, to see if I could by any chance hear a faint voice answering my grievance, but only heard the stirring echo of my own breath and sob. They think I’ve been freed from the prison. They think my torment is ended. They’re wrong. My confinement continues everyday. The torture goes on. Barriers surround and there’s no bridge to reach me. I cower in my own filth. The bones of my spirit are broken. My hunger is so great I devour myself. My thirst is so great I drink my own blood. This is what I’ve become. Pathetic, worthless, and alone. I’m beginning to wonder with all the strange feelings and lumps, there just didn’t seem to be room for anything else in there. Empty. I’m lost. It’s hopeless that’s what I thought.
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