A Dead Man Walking

You think I'm alive because you see me breathing, you hear words coming out and you think I'm living. So many lies are spoken on a daily basis but nobody stops and asks...Nobody stops and asks.......

Years have passed and not a moment has passed where I haven't wished for death. The gaps in between the pain and screams have been what you call life or existence but for me have been orgasmic moments of relief to which I completely surrendered to hoping they would hold me in their arms and give me some sort of belonging but and yes.... but, they also left me like everyone else. I don't expect anything else now as each moment of what I thought was betrayal became nothing but a mere fact of life.

I read so many books and observed so many people who in turn left me nothing but distant memories which clawed at me every time I looked away. Peace became an epiphany with wings which kept flying off whenever I tried to catch it and silence became a drop of hope in a sea of chaos in which I drowned repeatedly.

So, you ask now, you ask, how are you? But nobody sees the scars as they bleed still after so long. Maybe if I stopped scratching at them they would leave me alone or maybe if they stopped looking at me I would let them be. 

I've wanted nothing but to feel safe in this existence, to not feel tortured by the tentacles of fear. I still feel how they tease and claw at me, each touch has such deep feel and meaning, he knows exactly where to touch and where to press and I succumb to his vicious motives. If only I had the strength to fight back, to say STOP or NO! But I can't hide or run because he always finds me. Perhaps he will contaminate me as he did himself. I said a long time ago that I would gladly swap a lifetime of fear with a day of no fear at all, but as an ash drops off a cigarette when flicked, each hope of such a state withers away.

I don't think I have ever lived. How can one? When you're always looking back knowing that this moment is going to be taken away like each breath which has left me even though I struggled to keep it like an estranged lover knowing that each moment together could be the last.

So alive you think I am, breathing, moving you believe I am. But I know the truth and that is that my death is not to come but happened a long time ago before I was even born. Was my life a curse or a moment of redemption to which I failed constantly? So I'm not dying, I'm just walking a line made of moments of despair on which I sometimes slip and think I'm free, but that line is tied to me and escape isn't an option.

So alive I am not, just a man I am, a dead man, a man that died a very long time ago...........