Black Window

There's more to life than this. There's more to it.

But why isn't it showing yet? Am I being too impatient? Am I being too optimistic? Or, am I being too ignorant to see what's on my plate?

I highly doubt so. A "no" to all those questions above. Cause it's really been so long. So, so long. I really don't know how much longer I'll have to wait.

It's killing me within, it really is. And it's killing me softly. Amidst all the noise and chaos the screaming in me can't be heard. Even I can't hear me screaming. But I can certainly feel it. And it's gnawing at the bones, within the marrow it's piercing these calcium-made hardness. This solid structure is slowly decaying, and all that would be left is just this muscle, this pump of life. It'll continue pumping till the muscles slowly deteriorate. Till the vultures dig into the gaping holes.

The vultures are hovering over me. It feels that way. They're just waiting, their preying eyes watching me crumble.

I'm crumbling. Crumbling, at the thought of never seeing what I want. Crumbling, at the sight of seeing what's on my plate. Cause there's nothing. Clean. Not even crumbs.

There was never anything to begin with.