Lost

[So I found another old thing]


Lost.
Trudging,
down this infinite path
pain and sorrow
Walking,
no passion
no emotion
yesterday
today
tomorrow

Lost.
This whirlpool of
thoughts and feelings
so very overwhelmed,
you've become numb
Stripped of what you are
Peeling,
off my thin coat of armor

Naked,
vulnerable,
you continue wandering,

Lost.

1:32 AM

And that's what it's doing to you. You're getting so used to clearing a mental to-do list, like getting used to an old pair of worn out canvas shoes, that you're even starting to develop a twisted sort of affection for it. It's become an irremovable part of your life, almost like you're addicted, addicted to goddamned work, to a goddamned routine. It's become a weird sort of salvation, stress has become nothing but a massage, relaxing. Idleness, it makes you uncomfortable, unable to just sit quietly, letting the hands on the clock do its rounds, 

tick,

and tock, 

and tick,

and tock,

letting the sands of time slip by, no longer content with, no unable to watch the gradual change of everything with patient yet intense eyes. And you move the tips of your toes, tap, tap, tap. Your eyes, staring at a fixed point, frowning. Your arms, crossed. Muscles tensed, like a stretched spring. 

Broken.

-

A jack in the box. A painted smile. Empty eyes. Bobbing up, and down, and up, and down. It seems to be mocking you, with that silent laughter, not saying anything, but as such, saying everything. And its presence, it seems to be getting more and more pronounced, more and more oppressive. And your heart is pounding, beating a steady rhythm, dum, dum dum. And you try to make sense of it all, but all that you could see are those sadistic, treacherous, bright red lips. 

And your eyes focus, your brain snaps out of its state of helpless lethargy, and the jack in the box continues its bobbing motion, but this time, that's all there is to it.