Moments

         I toss and turn; unable to sleep. My bed—the sharp remnants of broken hopes, dreams, and promises. I stand, cutting my feet on failure. Older loss—worn to grit from overuse—grinds flat all emotion. Pain.

         Pain barely registers. Blood dripping from the gash across my mood—pooling in the recesses of my mind. Ache. Ache grown obese from over consumption. I am nothing but a passenger; tumbling and roiling inside a cocoon of turmoil. Forced to watch.

         I walk. Each step a useless victory. Each step another proof of inevitable failure. Hopelessness an alien concept. Hope has lost all meaning. Step. Pain. Step.

         I fall and float; unable to parse time. Floating—the world turns; humans only passengers—tumbling and rolling. Weightless I watch, the wall becomes my floor. Pain. My knees; stabbed by shards of what could have been.

         I crawl. Grasping for a concept. The inevitable failure evident in the emptiness I hold. Thin light weakly flails and flickers off the shards that slice my palms. Crawl. Pain. Crawl.

         Gasping I struggle. Unknown ideals rolling over me, throwing me down. Down. Down. Impossibilities call from atop an impossible climb. Taunting. Teasing. Hating.

         I toss and turn inside; unable to move. My floor—the jagged truth forced deep into my naked being. Stabbing. Cutting. Biting. Each breath a small victory; useless, futile, inevitably pointless.

         Pain—blood pouring the last remnants of warmth upon the floor of a broken soul. I die.