The Weight of Existence

I was here.

Sorry.

I don’t have it in me.

I have accomplished nothing,

yet I carry the exhaustion of a thousand lifetimes.

It’s frustrating.

Depressing.

A pathetic excuse for a life—

this thing that is no one’s responsibility but my own.

So shed me no tears.

Save them for the living,

for the audacious and the brave.

And to the rest—

those who fight, those who debate

the burden of breathing—

may God, in His kindness,

put an end to this misery.

Ask, and it will be given.

So I ask—

to rest at the feet of the Lord,

in absolute peace.

Yet between it all,

I cannot name the source of my pain.

It is unknown to me.

Still, begrudgingly, I drag my feet

through these issues that aren’t even problems,

through solutions that require

not discipline,

but a will to live.

They say I should ask for help.

Shout.

Scream.

I would—

if I had the words,

if I knew how to articulate my problem

that isn’t even an issue.

So here I am, trapped.

Not by my own doing,

nor by the hands of any man—

just a string of shit luck,

bad circumstances,

and an apparent incapability

to survive,

to endure.

Having said all this—

may God bless the strong,

and may He have mercy on the weak.