Abyss

One sudden evening, I started seeing things through my melancholic eyes.

Nothing seemed to excite me — why? Yet the constant palpitations in my heart reminded me of my anxious state.

I was just in a time flow, unable to stop the currents.

Much to my own strange joy, I simply went with the flow.

What happened these past years?

It’s all a blur to me — not even a colorful one at that.

It’s just there, but nothing to pinpoint.

Those days just went by — I know that.

If you ask me, I’d rather be honest: I felt neither the rush of life nor the adrenaline.

All my days rushed past me as the northern wind sweeps away the sand bristles.

Nothing noteworthy. Nothing life-worthy.

Sometimes I wonder: have I missed out on my life?

The years? Those days? I don’t know.

I’m scared to look into a dreamless, bland future — at the lifeless, hopeless me who never stopped daydreaming or fantasizing about life.

Now I feel almost like life’s cruel puppet, with strings too strong to break.

But I think… even if the strings were fragile, would I ever break free from the cycle?

Would I ever do justice to myself?

Would I ever see my past self — full of hope and dreams — receive the answers she desired?

Or would it be presumptuous of me merely to exist?

I think I’ll keep lamenting the things I desire.

Where’s my courage, Lord?

Where’s the rebellious self that was deemed to be strong and sharp?

Why am I twisted, curved, and bent to fit into this voracious, ruthless cycle, when my only dream was to be free and able to think without restraints?

Why am I limited to only the freedom that these meandering situations allow me to drift through?

Now, when the cold wind bites my impassive, numb face, I return to my blank, depreciated self, wondering whether I’m truly living anymore — wondering whether I will be allowed to dream again, to cradle my daydreams, my beautiful babies, the one thing wholly mine.

© Roselyn Blood, 2025