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penelopie wilson


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black. everything is dark. there is no light.

my heart is so heavy. i can’t hold it any longer. it weighs too much and has pulled me down. down to the ground. beneath the surface.

there is no light, only darkness. no air, only suffocation.

i don’t have it in me right now to rage back against the storm. the sorrow is too much. i can’t pick myself up off the ground. i don’t even care.

all i want to do is disappear. vanish. die. leave this world and everyone in it.

i’m supposed to be writing a reply, but i can’t form the words. i’m too broken to put words together that aren’t shattered…like i am. my reply will have to wait. the world will have to wait until i can pull myself together enough to pour out my soul in print.

unless death finds me first. and then the world and its occupants will have to wait indefinitely for my reply. although, it’s unlikely it would matter much to the person waiting on the reply. a shrug of their shoulders, a casual shake of their head and they’d soon be over it. back to business as usual, i’m sure.

that thought just brings the darkness in closer. sucks more air out of the room that i am in. meaning so little to so many…meaning so little to someone. more than that. more than meaning so little. meaning nothing. nothing.

i can’t eat. i can’t sleep. i can’t fake a smile. for the first time, i wasn’t 100% for my granddaughter yesterday.

other than when she was here, all i do is quietly stare. at nothing. i’ve nothing to say. the nothing has nothing left.

i’m done.

i didn’t expect to react like this…

i didn’t expect to completely shut down.

i didn’t expect that i would give up entirely.

and yet, here it is.

if i had the power to make myself stop breathing, i would. i’m done. i quit. i no longer care.

come find me, death. i’m yours.

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