The Weight

No pictures todays. I had trouble falling asleep last night and came up with an idea of a picture I wanted to draw. But instead of sketching it with lines and shapes, I sketched the idea with words:

the weight, you know the weight?

the weight that pulls us under into the deep fathomless ocean of our decrepit thoughts of worry

thoughts of love

thoughts of hatred

and everything in between in the endless deserts of not giving a fuck

dry and arid as my mouth as I tried to speak, to explain - not to you - but to myself the consequences of sinking too deep in search of peace, silence and all-consuming and devouring self-denial and the harsh promises it makes, whispering in your ear in the middle of the night

when everyone else is asleep but not yet dreaming

when you can taste the emptiness

the pressure that makes breathing feel like swallowing needles

when you can almost touch the detachment and you can hear the slow crumbling and withering sound of the city around you that is just an enormous casket for all the bodies littered in tiny apartments behind locked doors that are supposed to keep them safe from the beasts from gnawing their flesh while they sleep, the sound of cracking bones in the teeth of the carrion eaters as their lullaby, as they fall deeper into the slumber, carried by the comfort of pretended safety

and every morning they wake up from the cold metallic grip of their useless locks and shackles, with pieces of their bodies and minds missing and out of fear they don't speak about it, they say nothing to each other, pretending not to see the bleeding gaps and wounds, hoping that everyone else will do the same; to let the silence fill the holes and paint over their losses

and they never cry out of them, they never mourn out loud what they have lost, their tongues rotten out by shame and they never reshape themselves back together

everything that is missing is never to be recovered, slowly digesting in the bellies of the beasts, who rise every night to feast on their diminishing bodies until one night there is nothing to feast upon, the slowly waking minds having no bodies in which to return and there will be only the dream and the empty world that has no weight or inhabitants

an empty shell in a shore of a dried-up sea

...the weight

I've sunken too long and far too deep in this lie, in our shared misinterpretation of us becoming one with it and not to be able to tell the difference anymore

to separate the consequences from the cause

the weight, the weight is real

our inseparable attachment to it is not

without the weight this darkness spits me out

without the weight I'll rise

will you be there when I resurface?