Short Story

Monster of Men

I always pictured myself as a fucking coffin. Empty but heavy as hell.

Heavy with all the splinters and screws stabbing me. How the hell do i manage to keep a smile on my face? How the fuck do i actually still care?

How the hell can i still fucking breathe when my ribs are stabbing through my lungs?

How can i walk around like loosing everyone is no big deal? I ask myself how im still feeling all this pain and how im still fucking walking when im failing at every step i take? I dont get why i feel this way i dont get why i dont care for myself.

I dont get how i have morals higher than mount everest and yet i gave every peice of me away.

Every single peice was given to him. Why? Why did he deserve it? All he did was take...took my skin took my tongue took my mind and stole my heart. Why does he still have it? Why does he still say those three precious words that mean nothing anymore?

The time has passed..time still ticks..im just a corpse rotting in the noise of an invisible clock.

Ignore the mirrors or frown as i pick out everything i hate. Haunting my brain of every memory or thought thats not a reality. The future is still a blank canvas like i cant imagine id be there. Overthinking of how i cant beleive im here...like i have yet to accept i made it this far, have yet to come to terms with it so i drift away in a far away land.

I thought id be dead by now.

Thought id already be a corpse 6ft underground.

But then again i cant even picture that anymore.