You know that feeling when you just -for one day- want to cease from existing? All you want to do is vanish. Accept the fact that you are weak, and give in to your fine portion of poltroonery and run away. The worst part of life is when you aren’t sure whether you are living or dead; you aren’t sure whether the diminished sparkles in your eyes have been opaqued by the nothingness or the pain. What I do know is that pain can take you to a standing point where you are tingling in numbness. You lose balance. And you fall. You fall into a pitch black hole. And you think it’s over. You think that you’ll never have to wake up to the given fact that you are a living disappointment again. It feels nice. The darkness feels nice because it feels like you have finally dematerialised. And that all that’ll be left of you is a finely quoted obituary and the soul of your immortal shadows. They’ll foolishly bring up your name with a tear, a wasted sorrow. It’s nice. But then you wake up, and you start seeing everything that hurts again, and you start hearing everything that bruises again. And you wake up, you see your well structured body hiding away a dead soul. And you wake up and you don’t see the sparkles no more. You don’t see a life anymore. And you stay awake until you’re back to the darkness to catch your breath again.