Ramblings of a lonely man

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Living in the dark hole called life

Submitted: September 28, 2016

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Submitted: September 28, 2016




Ramblings of a man who is coked up and has nothing to say.


How did I get to this point?


The emptiness, the loneliness of my existence. I want to hold out a hand for help, but, if I don't help myself how can I expect to ask for advice and then accept what they tell me? It is clear what I must do anyhow. I feel like I contribute nothing and have nothing to contribute, this however is ridiculous, but how can I make myself feel so?


For years I have searched for answers at the bottom of a drink, a line, a dab, or the food I eat to give me the momentary escape from my pain of existence, but this is now my existence. A soul and heart with so much to give, being beaten by my unhappiness into submission.


Surrounded by unfinished desires in order to quench the yearning my brain has for self expression, is this the only way I have come to be able to express myself, by keep on descending into my unhappy hell.


Shackled by the thoughts of doubt that dictate my existence on this earth, wrapped up so much in my own problems unable to forge the friendships I so desire, oh but I have friends! Oh, but are they? And if they are, why do I always doubt them, doubt the things people say around me, the smiles we share, why cant I believe or allow myself to trust these feelings people display are true?


Being in a hole within a world with so much light is the darkest place in the universe, my own universe, created to push people away and keep myself from becoming the person I know I can be, just thinking that I could find that happy place again makes me feel like it is a delusion of grandeur, so unobtainable the feeling seems to be.


A life that like a yo-yo goes down at an instance but finds it increasingly impossible to come back up, like it is being played by an old man with a bad hand, each throw downwards the string getting longer as it descends, oh how I hope the old man will give the yo-yo to someone who is more youthful that can bring it back up and produce beautiful imaginative tricks, when the yo-yo is swung back up life can look so great, this man has had this yo-yo for a while now.


That beautiful life, that feeling of being alive, it was there, but like a friend who you shared so many fond memories that flouts out of your life, the memories getting further and further away.


But oh what times they were!


Those days when the man's hands were young, the way the yo-yo of life would be dancing in the air with all the vigour of care free youth, spinning in optimism as the sun came up over the horizon, thoughts that bring a smile as you nurture your soul as as you remember the days the air smelt fresh and thoughts were pure.


Memories that make the darkness seem more profound.

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