“How are you?”
My life is an endless void of destruction that is bearing down on my shoulders like the world did on Atlas, but I can’t complain because someone has it worse somewhere, people are dying so it doesn’t matter if I only feel like I am.
My eyes can only look but not see because my vision has been tainted with scenes of mediocrity that I am not allowed to obtain. Perfection is key but I can’t even find the lock oh I must keep searching for answers to questions I can’t remember.
My feet are blistered with indecision and caked with regret from walking down all the wrong roads, trying to follow the path to success while also being a trailblazer myself. I’m not sure where I’m going but I doubt I’ll get there soon.
My hands no longer shake from anxiety; it is merely habitual patterns that are ingrained in my being, I’ve been writing the same sentence for four years and it hasn’t stopped being true yet.
My throat is dry from the greetings I must always have prepared when meeting my future, my voice does not quake with nervousness but now is flat with lack of passion: it’s not because I want it to, its because it has to.
My dreams are haunted with the same nightmare every time, a piece of paper slicing right through my heart and shredding every ounce of hard work and dedication as it goes. A boy I once knew is in a mental institution now with this same diagnosis: failure.
“Oh, I’m fine.”