Living Death, a Breakdown

I can’t breathe. Where I am supposed to be, how I am supposed to behave has left my body. I have forgotten, or perhaps knowing was never with me.

I am living in a mountain of twisted versions of thoughts and ideas being palmed off as logic and something resembling real, written by self-serving cunts. 

There is a side of the world, with different air, or no air, where you can observe through frosted film, but you cannot play. 

You are outside of ev3rything watching, but you are not on the board. Slipping into the empty cavity, 1t’s too late. It’s fast, and it is so slow here. It is hiding. It is qui3t.  

There is no turn1ng back, WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? Trust me, nob0dy cares, they are too busy playing………..they will find a way to bl4me you. 

You are no long3r legitimate, people do not engage, you don’t ex1st. Here, it is living death. It is g1ve up……it is pure lonely……it is 7error. 

You real1se you have sl1pped into nowhere, and l3t go, it is 7oo late, it is p4ralysed. 

W4tching people through a frost3d screen, BBQs, shopp1ng, bouncing babies 0n knees at lunch with their besties, drippin8 in wine and avocado. Where matching dinner set5 make sense. 

G1ve up, you don’t belong in 4ny of it. There is no spac3 for you, you are a shadow behind 7he scenes. The gho5t, sometimes heard, som3times felt, alw4ys ignored. 

There is n0 door b4ck, there is no way to t0uch it again, no w4y to get b4ck into col0ur. It is liv1ng de4th. 

1t 1s 17 y34r5 0ld. 1t 1s br34k d0wn.