𐌔𐌕𐌀𐌕𐌉𐌂 𝙎𝙀𝙍𝙀𝙉𝙄𝙏𝙔

In the Face of Oblivion

Potentially triggering content to some readers!

Helplessness is a term we're all familiar with, but what does it truly mean?

We often rely on words to describe complex emotions, yet these words can fall short, reducing a spectrum of feelings to a single term.

While words can express emotions, they are only one tool among many, and not every emotion can be fully captured by language alone.

Helplessness is more than just a word; it's a profound experience that can feel like being trapped in a situation with no escape. It's that deep, gut-wrenching sensation of losing control, when nothing you do seems to make a difference. It's the battle we fight when life slips through our fingers, leaving us powerless.

When we experience happiness, sadness, or overwhelm, we often overlook how these emotions can influence our decisions. It's like sipping a cocktail at a bar, the intoxication subtly altering our choices, making them more impulsive, more intense.

But then comes hopelessness, creeping in when the possibility of change seems out of reach. It's like a shadowy voice whispering in the dark, urging you to give in, to find comfort in doing nothing.

Perhaps this explanation feels vague or even condescending. Yet, when I'm locked in the depths of my own mind, the cold grip of hopelessness emerges, suffocating and relentless.

In the garden of aspirations, hopelessness is the frost that withers blossoms, trapping the soul like a Venus flytrap in the cold. But deep within those icy oceans lies a seed, a dormant volcano waiting for the right pressure to erupt.

In the garden of aspiration, hopelessness is a chilling frost that turns the blossoms to brittle trapping the soul in a Venus flytrap as it freezes overtime. However, within the oceans lies a seed, a dormant volcano waiting for the right pressure to explode.

Even when the body is wounded by a blade of ebony, the heart remembers to survive. From the rotting roots of helplessness, strength and determination emerge, wielding a sword of light to cut through the weeds. We rise to reclaim the skies, once wide and open, and to turn the tide once more, guided by courage, even if we must navigate blindly.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My battered body, limp and cold, urged me forward. Intoxicated on a repetitive code of survival that convinced my brain to push. My parted lips begged me to scream for help to a non-existent person. 

However, my lungs threatened to suffocate as the call faded from a breath to a whisper. 

I was grasping the fragile barrier between life and death, my palms forming a fist to hold onto the fundamental concept of existence. 

Euphoria's pain ran pulses in my veins like heroin, a whiskey blend of desperation and death clouding my mind like a potent drug.

A constant, rhythmic thump echoed in my ears, like a distant song from my childhood. The sharp pain that followed was sudden and overwhelming—a gunshot. 

As the bullet struck me, everything around me fell silent. I began slipping into a dreamless sleep, unable to grasp my thoughts or desires. All I knew was that I craved rest, though understanding had long since faded away.

My mind began to drift, as if it were slowly merging with a river born from misty cliffs, seeking an unfamiliar peace. I half imagined rising to a scene bathed in celestial light, standing before the pearly gates of heaven awaiting the judgement from Saint Peter himself. If mercy were to be granted, I hoped it would be kind.

Yet, a shadow of doubt lingered. Heaven seemed reserved for the pure-hearted, and that divine embrace felt forever out of reach. My existence always seemed like a tangled web of muted emotions—a relentless cycle of torment that weighed on my spirit.