The Grave

The pain is endless. Holding on to life has become harder than ever. I am no melodramatic being, I have my emotions, I am not consistent of darkness, nor am I someone who would like to be the top priority of everyone. I have a few people to hold on to, but when the ties to the closest ones break, I break too.

My trust does not fade in the humanity overall because it has never been present. I have lived on my life no matter what I had to face, even if it is putting my own self to sleep in my grave.

My grave has a horrible delineation of the darkest and coldest deserts. I never knew that deserts could be black, dark, cold, and unbearable. Mainly it’s just the terrifying hot weather, with burning sand. But this desert was damp and molded from all the tears I have shed.

When I enter my grave it is painful, it is an excruciating feeling and I feel like I have never been here, even though I go to my grave every night. Every night I close my teary eyes with the hope that the angels of death will finally listen to my calls to rescue me from here, but they never come.

Each sunny morning is just a bright feeling of numbness and it is not something that I want for myself. I want out, but I want in. I want to struggle in this endless infinity circle of being lost. I figured that no one can hurt us more than we hurt ourselves. We are our biggest enemy. We know our weaknesses better than anyone ever could, ever would.

For a very long time I felt that I was not understood, not part of this community, but one way or the other we all belong together. Our humanity bonds us together, but what is a human that does not obey humanity? What about the people who do the cruelest things to other individuals? If it is mentally or physically, does it really matter?

I know I can not blame humans for being rude or cruel, because even the worst person on this planet will have something that breaks him. I believe that we all have our weak points, and my weak point is.. a hug.

When I get a hug I feel like I get hope. Hope in life, in living on, in keep holding on, in staying here and moving forward. Honestly, it never mattered whether the hug was from a close person or a complete stranger, I just see hugs as a thing of pure pleasure and satisfaction.

Sadly, the only hugs I have been getting is from my deathbed, and that on a god damn severe, daily basis. My deathbed hugs me brutally, it strangles me, it is heartless and pitiless. It looks in to my empty eyes, and kisses me softly on my lips. With its bloodthirsty self it sucks every drop of blood out of my body, then it leaves me alive and laughs with its rough voice.

My deathbed plays with me every night and treats me like a frivolous individual. I can’t even escape it. I can’t even try to find light, it covers me with his mile long dark curtains and leaves a black silk sheet on me when it leaves.

The silk is the only love my deathbed ever shows me, and forces me to come back to it every night. He is a liar, a very dishonest deathbed, it brings me closer to the end and leaves me on the edge every night.

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