Hearts beat furious held in unsure panic; fear has taken grip again. There is no reason other than living…the guilt of being born. Our only true sin.
Terror holds with a tightening grip. The moments tick by as fear pushes toward the final moment, the final endless moment when terror swirls and fogs the vision of the path before you. One cannot even walk such a thing when blinded by fear. Choking, cloying, clotted.
I want to stand where I am and never move again. I want to watch the world continue as I wither and die in spite of it. I want to wash in my terror, indulge it, become petrified by it. Safe, hollow, and utterly alone. Does a shell matter?
Negativity can fill the holes that fear leaves, more specifically fear corrupting into doubt. The black, tarry emotions that destroy seek such a vacuum- they are looking something to hold on to. Like terror.
I am scared. I can feel it inside my stomach, raising toward the top of my neck to inflict that little pinch before the point of no return. I can feel it. I can feel it. The anxious hope that it will disappear only to continue. Don’t expect support because those who cower in fear are splattered in this world and their last moments of indignity are recorded and sold for a tiny profit.
Lost lives litter these lost paths wandering and frozen within the melancholy of imperfect nostalgia. Scared about things they have not completed, scared about doing things that they have not completed, scared to see things they haven’t seen. These are the bodies that walk alive. They are shells. Hollow. Filled with emptying fear.
I want to remove my eyes and start screaming, screaming and laughing as I remove more and more of myself, destroying all my senses until there is nothing but. Fear. Then…maybe then. I’ll be free.