I Am Not Alive Yet Not

What is death? The final breath of oxygen our weary lungs absorb? The last glance our eyes take towards our soul? Or does death dominate our mind, the way the sun governs the earth. Death isn’t the final hour of your existence but it’s when your life reaches its end. Your soul remains immortal and soars through the sky while your body decays in the earth’s soil and moulds into the ground as if it was destined to be. Are we two different people incarnated in ourselves? So similar yet predestined for a different future. Death isn’t your physical existence but your mental vulnerability. You can live without truly being alive. That’s how I feel every day of my life. Every morning I wake up inside the same dull four walls to no sunrise. Waiting to be unlocked from a room I call hell. My feet drag themselves as if they have a mind of their own and saunter through the same familiar corridor day after day trying to muster my escape. The same hollow and fatigued faces glance into nothingness wondering when God will finally spare their lives. We all wear the same uniform in this place. The pale shade of orange blisters my eyes and sends rigid callous icicles down my throat that try to burn my soul, my path to a better life. No one cares about the troubled here. We are all troubled, all seeking attention; but here we are nothing. Here we are dead, grey lifeless engines that keep crashing into the same pillar on the road. Here we mourn of our survival. We count the minutes that we spend in this horrible abyss. The guards examine us like hawks, Hungry vultures circling an old weary lion trying to rest on the sand of the Sahara. They scrutinise us as if we chose to be like this. They oppress us in the sense that we are nothing, less than nothing. As if we aren’t even human. I brush my cold yellow fingers through what is left of my oily charred hair comprehending tonight and what lies ahead. This is going to be my last sunset. My last day, my last few breaths, before I head into nothingness. In this place we are not scared of death but we are scared of the consequences of staying alive. The time has come; this late winter’s night has finally arrived. My body numb. My feet cold and soon my soul will be lifeless. They said I was crazy, standing there on my bed. They said I would never escape this slammer but they were just as determined as I was. What is life? The oxygen we breathe? The sights we elude towards our soul? Or does life control our minds the way the earth controls the moon? You cannot control life; life controls you and manipulates your thoughts and actions before your time finishes. I open my eyes one last time noticing liquid tinkling down my hollowed cheeks. I hope it’s nice up there. I hope that I could finally rest away from the evilness that prowl around us. The brown callus material wraps harshly around my neck. I close my watery and sinful eyes. Going to take my final step, my final leap. This would be the first and last time I will ever float, bound, soar. My soul takes its last glance towards the earth, rising from the ground while my body remains in the prison cell swinging of the rope I hung. As if it was destined to be there.

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