This is what I wanted. To not feel again. So why now do I feel so frustrated?
I’m screaming, my fists are pounding the walls that make up the self-imposed container of my mind.
I will be glad if I never feel anything again. And yet the past calls out to me, reminding me of what used to be. Was it all just an illusion, in the end nothing but a dream? I don’t want it to be.
And still I’m here, crying out for you to save me, but I’m afraid dear, that this time it’s too late to rescue me.