Trying to Feel Alive, Dying.

Unravelling,
Soul crushing,
Unfeeling with emptiness
Feeling with darkness,
Crushing blow,
A world so faded.
The mind’s eye,
It’s torture.

It’s place,
It’s being,

Trying,
To find a way.

The mind in it’s ever-dark circle.
The flashes,
Life, meaning and the darkness.
A face in the veil,
The shroud of darkness.

The mind’s memory,
It keeps,
Enshrined,
Every mistake, pain and torture.
Lurking behind the cloud.
Just waiting,
Trying,
Piercing.

Blasting music loud,
Into my head,
Trying to drown out,
The thoughts raging, hurting, killing from the inside.

And on into the quiet,
The quiet times,
With the mind, screaming so loud.

Trying to summon rage,
Infinite rage,
To drown out all thoughts,
Before, then I tire out.
Collapsing on the floor.

Mind full of sorrow,
A life empty,
Dying inside,
With each passing day.
Passing. Time.

Wanting, an escape,
But only finding hell,
The confines I find myself.
A destructive sense,
Of emptiness, whole.

Only wanting,
To try,
To be.

Introspective into pain.
Emptiness, whole.

As I try,
The world alight,
Fires swallowing.
Despite, all I’ve tried.

Having to go on,
But quitting inside,
With the moments, as they pass.

The mind ripping itself apart.

The world.
So hard, cold.
As I lie awake.
My mind,
Filling my eyes with tears,
Looking inside,
Feeling,
Dying.
Wanting it to stop.
All of the pain.

Trying and failing.

Empty and hurt in this world so cold,
Constant reminders, pain so great.
Pain with being.
Trying and hurting.

The dying light,
Dying life.

Sick to my stomach,
Hurting all over,
It all reminding. Piercing my soul.
Having tried.
Trying.
Hurting.
Feeling.

The sad song, of life.

Trying.
But broken inside.
The sad songs we hear, live, and feel.

Head fallig below the dark-water-line.
Wanting, hoping for it to stop.
Only wanting to live, and try.
To strive, but tired.

And I stop. Wait. Exist. And think.

Lost in a sea of memories,
Thinking on and on,
Over and over,
And it never stops.

Everytime, every scar, every memory.
Building to a sad whole.
The only answer to forget.
But that. I cannot.
I cannot.

Left existing.

Writing my only escape,
Embracing the pain.
Waiting and hoping,
But. Too tired to hope.

So I exist.

Trying, as I tire out.

Everything fading.

So I exist.

The many times,
Lying awake,
Thinking, hurting.
I remember them all.
Scars etched into my mind.

Breaking me down.
Piece by piece,
They all shatter.
They all shatter.
I shatter.

But I must stop somewhere.

So I exist.


Feeling tortured, always in the mind.

Living in my mind, the thing that comes closest to describing it is the punishment of Prometheus, chained to a rock, to have a giant bird peck and eat his liver, only for it to recover overnight and to happen all over again the next day.

Everything, the mind, thinking, can’t be bothered to do anything, just existing is too much effort.

It’s the mind more than anything, swirling thoughts, no peace, just reliving, unable to ignore or get away from. Just remembering. Hurting. Wanting it to stop. Wanting my mind to stop.

My mind, a prison.
Always,
Not understanding.
Painful.
Horrible.

Autism sucks.
It’s a prison you can never escape from.
Trying, in vain as life passes.

Trying, a world throwing all it has.
It gets too hard.

My life, can be summed up.
By; always trying, always failing.

Everything, misunderstanding, pain, hurt.

With my studies I had a goal, always trying so hard, but always failing. Haven’t had a grade I’ve been pleased with in my whole schooling life.
Moving country even, it was a trial, is a trial, taking a more difficult road. But I tried. I tried.

Not even knowing anymore really.

Everything people say,
Hurting,
Everything I do,
Hurting.
But I tried. All I could do.
And the world reminds, it means nothing.

Looking back on life, memories of all, and it just hurts.

Every moment, memory, shining like a dark star.
Many, leading up to Uni and difficult times to even attend, times during, many, and many times in childhood. And a memory flashes before me. Sitting under my diningroom table, as a kid, must’ve been like 6, hurting, and biting so hard down on my hand till drawing blood. Just to feel. Funny, this, this dying life.

Just want to write, write and write. All the incoherent thoughts. A few hours and I’m still not done. But have to end somewhere.

I’ve gotten so far, and yet, still, nothing.

I really, really, really don’t want to stop writing. It’s the only thing I can right now. But no.

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