This poem is being written, not on a ‘good day’, but an okay day. Not particularly down, on the contrary, I am concentrating on some important work. However, I wanted to capture a worse fate than death, a worse feeling. Captured very well by Captain Barbossa in Pirates of the Caribbean talking about the cursed gold and how taste is made empty, so is warmth and everything else.
Death is finality.
Death is the end.
Death is an incontinuity.
Death isn’t what to be feared, just like switching a lightswitch off
What is to be feared;
Is the fate worse than death.
An emptiness never filled.
Taste never satiated.
In a state of limbo.
Tortured in every living moment.
Living for nothing, just continuing.
A difficult place to explain this is.
I shall endeavour to try.
Imagine a place where:
Every sense is felt, but meaningless
Pain is constant
Enjoyment is faked but never felt
Living is continuing on a routine you follow, but don’t want to
Feelings pain you, but are unescapable
Everything that ‘makes life worth living’, is meaningless, shallow, finite, ending and…
it pains me to say… insufficient.
This place is indescribable in most terms.
It’s a fate worse than death.