Who has confined me to this existence?
Who has imprisoned me in this solitary world? Is this some sick joke from a tortuous god? or is the sick joke, us thinking there’s a god at all?
What is the point of this soulless land? The air is dirt, and the ground is the ashes of death. Breathing is hard. Every breathe collapsing my lungs
Filling them with ash
There is no relief from this suffering; no ones hand is here to hold. There is only pain. A pressing pain pours over this poor plank I call a body. It is stiff with nothingness, filled with emptiness, and made up of erosion.
There is no hope. How could there be when there is nothing to hold on to? Nothing to grasp, which leaves you reaching out into the abyss. Grabbing onto the only thing that is there.
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