The Statistic
Will I ever be anything else?
I can’t move today.
Why is this cycle so vicious? Every potentially meaningful moment is promptly thrown away.
Will I be a statistic?
Will I finally discover the outlet that makes my body no longer crave this? My heart no longer miss this?
It is misery, and physically, my body is blistering.
How much further embarrassment do I have to endure to finally realize the answer? It’s as if there’s absolutely no cure.
I wish I were stronger than this.
I’ve cried more than enough tears to fill up those glasses that are usually filled with the stuff that makes the memories no longer exist.
Everything is an idea. There are no hopes, no dreams, no goals…
…just skills that are never applied, talent that’s wasted and yet another tortured soul.
I do not want to be another number.
About the Creator
BrettNotGreg
-Thirty-something enigma with a wide spectrum of interests.
-Heavily anchored in poetry.
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