Hole

The Hole doesn't mean that it is the end, its just the beginning.

Bruised and beat; heart pounding as I lay on the cold concrete floor, demanding that I was strong enough to stand. Frail, broke contesting that today wasn’t the day where I was going to make it to my feet. As I lay, absorbing all of my surroundings but not really paying attention to them, I deeply question, why I couldn’t rise? Why my body would not move when I asked it? Curled over, a ball of sadness I resembled, I am nothing! I alone, trapped and rampaged by the disgust of who I am, that I am deafened, unable to hear the distant screams of those who care, offering me their hand, an aid to rise off of the cold, concrete ground. So, there I lay, broken and unable to speak; too shadowed by the pain of this world to be able to comprehend the happenings of my life; death was upon me. Unforgiven, for the hurt I inflicted to me, as I curl deeper and deeper into the ball, unloved not even by me. I see, the distant me, trapped in a hole deeper then imaginable; no ladder, no escape, no hand long enough to hoist me up; their I remain trapped, lost. I feel myself, sliding down the edge, that rope I am holding, dangling, for my life depends on it; unsure of the tomorrow, only knowing my fate was down. To why I am using energy, easy to waste, when my fate sealed and already in place; should I give up now, give into the death that so earnestly calls my name, pounding on my chest to just let go.

Author's Note

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