I Murdered Myself

Doing this,
Rushing that,
Slowly losing myself Into conforming with the harsh reality.

Rushing this,
Completing that,
Have I really ever achieved anything?
When did I last reflected upon myself?

Long time ago,
Not so long,
I was ambitious, daring, bold.

But now,
Everything changed when life attacked,
I started to lose my ambition,
Petering out into a state of nothingness;
I started to lose my courage,
Ebbing away into bit by bit until I dissipate completely;
I started to lose myself,
As if I was controlled by an external force- temptation and desires,
I gradually turned to the dark side
Of being utterly oblivious about self-consciousness.

Ridiculed, attempts to change were to no avail.
Millions of times later,
I still sought for solace in the wreath of temptation:
To be lazy,
To drag time,
To enjoy doing nothing.

The ageless battle between me and me
Was relentless, trying and wearying.
A disgrace, a fucking disgrace.

Until now, I realised
Something is wrong.
Something is missing from me.
Me.

I was lost,
And not yet found.

No,
I am not lost.

But rather,
I shut myself down,
I killed myself,
I murdered myself,
Mercilessly, heartlessly,
Accompanied with a mirthless aftertaste.

The new me arose, triumphantly.
Reigning supreme over me.
Not even handing me the chance to even look back.

I know I am not on the right track,
And yet I still do not care anymore.

Deep down inside me,
The old me crouched in a defeated fashion,
Succumbing to the outside world.

He is,
I am in fear.

I am afraid to get up to wrestle with life again.
I am afraid of being the old pushy me again.
I am afraid of not getting enough rest again.

Round and round the roundelay goes,
I sit in the comfort zone where all things are good,
Not having a single thought of leaving this ass-warming cushion.
Slumping into my usual state of doing nothing.

My mind convinced myself once more,
I do nothing everyday,
And nothing is impossible.

Reassuring, comforting,
I rested in peace.

Craving for more? Down below:
I Murdered Myself
The Remains of The Day by Kazuo Ishiguro (Book Review)
Sugar, Fats, And Sitting Too Much
Conquest (July Goals)
Disability Is A Gift.
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