It’s almost as if if I take too deep a breath, my core will crack and shatter. Splinters and shards would cover the floor. Fragments of a whole, fragments of a shell.
This unearthly emptiness consumes me. It’s angry and cold. It is hungry and feeding on the pieces of my soul that haven’t soured or decayed completely.
I search my heart and my head for reasons to keep going, keep pushing through these days. These days that I hate the effort it takes to breathe. I hate the skin that covers me, pushed outward by unnecessary fat and speckled with discoloration.
I slept for a few hours after work. My existence is shutting down. Why must I keep going on?