Horror House

There is so much sleeplessness in my soul. And in the stillness of this eerie silence I am taken back to a time when the night used to be my home. That was a few years ago, when life was still a lot more beautiful, more alive, and when this house was still close to something I call home. Those are only memories now. Tonight I listen to the deafening melody of this cold October evening and feel estranged by the unfamiliar mood of this darkness. I close my eyes and wait for some nocturne magic, but instead all I have is fear in my heart thinking that there are ghosts in the house where the starlit skies should be. I hear the gush of wind slamming through the window and I imagine some butterfly wings flapping in someplace else, waiting for its spell to take hold of the world, waiting for the incantation. When I try to pause for a while in silence, to reflect, to meditate, I feel the heavy pangs of existence clawing deep within me: first the skin, then the flesh, then it digs into the bones until it finds my soul and feast upon it. There is this unmistakable pain in the chest that seem to hurt more and more the moment I find myself alone in the world, awake at 3:00 in the morning and aching over some pain that I cannot put to words.When I try to look at my life now I figure there are so many things to be thankful for. So many in fact that I could not even recall a time when I was more privileged, more entitled to life’s simplest pleasures. But everyday I struggle through life with a perpetual sense of miserable hopelessness, of fear, hate, doubt, mistrust, even danger for all the things I do not know.


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