So many sadness-es are competing for my attention, snatching at my heart randomly, unexpectedly.
So much sorrow to take in, it’s overwhelming.
So much to process, so much to be angry for, to grieve over, to acknowledge.
To say that when it rains, it fucking pours is a shocking understatement.
When it rained in my skies recently, seven tsunamis crashed against my reality and the confusion of it all is unbearable.
Trains of thought cease apbruptly as others crowd upon my conscience and demand to be recognized.
And in the end, they all remain a mystery.
Like a damp, dark cloth pressed hard against my eyes, my mouth and my nose, the unknown suffocates and blinds me in unison, leaving me in a state of eternal dying, but death never actually comes.
Like the agony inside a dying man’s head, this cold, damp surrounding prolongs.
It’s draining. It’s hurting.
It is undying death…
And it prolongs…