Sin Fronteras Spring 2017 Sin Fronteras Spring 2017 | Page 78

How Much More is There To
Take? Axl Angulo
Nothing makes sense.
I can look, but I can’t see.
I can hear, but I can’t listen.
I can touch but I can’t feel.
I can breathe but I can’t survive.
I beg myself to keep my eyes from watering down
Into the pool of despair in which I currently reside.
My life is worthless.
My life is nothing but a dull, useless and never ending routine.
Wake up. Get dressed. Eat. Get briefcase. Get in car. Drive to work. Work. Work. Work.
Work. Stop. Continue. Work. Work. Work. Work. Eat. Work. Work. Work. Work. Finish. Get
in the car. Drive home. Work. Work. Work. Work. Eat. Clean up. Sleep. Repeat.
There’s no light shining through the window. There are no birds singing. There is no
fresh air.
There are no emotions, no love for anything. Only immaculate productivity. Only the
immaculate routine the world has beseeched of Its people. To me. There is no room for
being human in this “human” world.
There comes a point when you repeat these “immaculate” things so many times that
life seems to become surreal and distorted. It just becomes... dull.
Cold.
What has happened? Nothing new. That’s always the case.
It makes it hard to differentiate the immaculate reality from the actual reality.
The reality that contains much more than meets the eye.
Stand up from the bed in which you did not sleep. Get dressed so the real image
of your being doesn’t disturb the world. Eat just to survive and not starve. Get the
briefcase full of the work that will not matter in a day. Get in the car to drive towards
hell. Drive towards hell. Work. Work. Work. Work. Stop. Continue. Work. Work. Stress.
Stress. Eat to survive. Stress. Stress. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. Finish with the first
part of hell. Get in the car to drive towards a different circle of hell. Drive towards the
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next circle of hell. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I want to die. I need to die. I eat so I can
survive to the next day and torture myself once more until I become accustomed to
the pain that resides inside of me. Clean up in order to wash off the terrible stench of
death that has been emitting from me since I started this zombie life. Cry to myself to
no avail. Repeat.
I say so much, yet I never speak.
I never do open my mouth.
What I do open, however, is myself,
and I open my heart with a slight glimmer of hope for things to get better,
but hope is nonsense. My heart gets filled with debris of hate
and then I realize that hope is non-existent...
I realize that life is a lie.
This is a cycle that I need to get out of
but I simply can’t do that.
As much as I try, I just can’t help it...
except I know I can.. and there’s only one way I know how to stop it.
I keep on asking myself: “I wonder how much it hurts to die,
because it’s hurting so much more to stay alive now.
How much more is there to take?
Because if I have much more to endure,
then I’d rather not endure anything at all.”
I’m done with this lie that everyone calls world.
I will show myself
how much
it really
hurts
to
die.
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