Book remarks

I can waste as much time as I can stand just thinking through how I can manage to breathe…how hard it’s been to remember to do it.
Every time I wake up, not that I had ever slept to begin with, I realize that my mind had been just dull, in a way that almost hurts to be back to real life! And I beg for no sound of this world drag me out of my speculations, my new life…their life…
Is almost not fair to those who stay here, begging me to open my eyes and see them, feel them…I really pity them, I really do. It’s not my fault, though…I see their irritation, their grief, I want to make them understand me, I want to make them smile and carry on without me…but it’s just not fair to them, I know it isn’t! And would it be for me?
After a little while, I just end up at the first part of my thoughts, the breathing part. I realized that the reluctance I have to inhale the oxygen that’s left for me isn’t because my lungs don’t work! I know now that going to any hospital hoping to find something wrong isn’t really going to help!
As if I ever thought that it would…You see, I just don’t breathe right because, deeply inside my very clouded mind, I don’t want to. I’ve been just thinking about this for a long time, and I failed them…I’m not even trying to do it right, I’m not trying to save my life, I don’t want to do it…And they are angry with me, and I am so sorry. It’s like I don’t have much of a soul anymore! That’s it, someone stole my soul, they did it, despite the fact that they don’t really exist. Anything I can think of right now can carry my body to the life I have to live. Anything my mind is thinking, it hasn’t anything to do with that.
Oh! I’m sorry I can be so stubborn. I’m sorry I don’t think much of this life they share with me…they should understand, but I don’t blame them for not doing it. Yes I feel like a kid, I feel like a crazy person. I don’t wanna die, you know…I just don’t want this life for me anymore. It doesn’t suit me. I’m just an empty body, no soul, no substance, no feelings. I’m in a crust, and inside it there’s a whole world that I face alone, and that no one can break in. A world of my own, only those who seem to have stolen my essence can bother me there…only the ones that don’t live, but have done much to stole my soul, even without any touching grasp.
And now all that’s left of me is this: a stinking poem in prose!


Autora: Julia Niemeyer