to all the glowing eyes ✎ joshler

october 30

the noise that his classmates make is almost nonexistent to his ears. only the tick tock of the clock is heard. his eyes are focused on the floor under his feet. reality is slowly getting away from his grip as he keeps staring into oblivion.

he can feel himself fall deeper into the void.

his body floating on a darkness that's as opaque as a black hole.

the light of real life, the hopeful white star that kept him grounded all these years, getting smaller and smaller as the endless black space consumes him entirely.

his lungs are desperate for air. the lack of oxygen is making his brain scream for something to bring sense into itself. without it, he'll collapse. his breaths come in short, momentary gasps. his chest is too tight and his throat is slowly closing up.

he wants to scream. he needs to scream.

he needs to signal that he needs help.

but there is nothing.

he can't stop wheezing, small dozes of air coming in at random times.

nothing he would've known before is helpful now.

he feels like a secondary character on his own life. losing himself as other people take center stage in the story of who he was and was supposed to become.

his hands turn colder. his whole body loses warmth as the white spotlight is merely a faraway star on the dark sky that is his new home.

though, he is not accepting this fate. he is fighting this pain, this merciless punishment for actions he was forced to commit.

everything hurts.

pain. such unbearable agony.

the darkness is eating him alive in the most hurtful way imaginable.

his voice has been taken away. he cannot scream out for help.

no one can hear him.

no one acknowledges that he is dying.

tears from his eyes float away from his body.

his mind overflowing with grains of indecision. the choices he once made and he'll make turn impatient as the time runs out from his body and all sense of his place in the universe fades away.

his whole body shakes, fear and anxiety replace the blood on his veins.

his body is cramping, knees are shaking as old thoughts he gave for lost crawl back into his tortured mind and he can feel and hear all the colors and cracks and sounds as he shudders, rocking back and forth and back and forth and back and forth and back and forth.

he is consumed by his own shadow. grief and guilt twisting his thoughts further into what would be considered the worst thing ever imaginable. he's almost gone completely insane.

he's living so far inside his mind that he has completely forgotten about the outside world.

he is like schrödinger's cat: he is living and dead. no other way around it. no suspicious or theories. he is existing in a place that knows nothing but suffering.

all the meanings people gave to life are written in paper that get destroyed once he reaches them.

he can only see a handful of words. and they all stab him and stay.

the words bury on his body, his soul, digging deeper and failing to rip his skeleton from his flesh.

to accompany those hurtful words, everything he's ever said and everything he wished he'd said take shape. seemingly endless paragraphs built palaces, each one more complex than the last one.