Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

words cannot contain that which does not exist

so cold, so empty, so pointless

what is my purpose

why does the world feel like the relentless wind

that will blow my soul away

it feels like a ghost

unreal

abstract

fragile to the touch

the fibers of my being

coming apart at the seams.

an empty shell without drive or worth

like i could....like i could what?

i just FEEL

but there is only one problem

i can't feel

the only thing that i can feel

is the knowledge that I

am on the bring of waking in the morning

simply to remind myself that i can

arising simply to watch the sun rise

only to have it set again...

if i can even bring myself to wake for that

with the guilt of knowing another day went by wasted

no action amidst this rhythmic rise and set

a gaping hole in my chest

where my hope used to be

the light of a person i used to be

and don't know if i can ever be again

hollow laughs, plastic smiles

what hope can one receive from others

if one cannot have hope in oneself.

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