Standstill

It can be all turn out to be fairytale for some, a nightmare for the other, it really is a matter of a hell lot of things intertwined with luck. But mine is different. There is no luck playing the part. 

I crept through the darkest of days, following the dim strand of a beam - I came through it all. I played with myself when there was no one to play with, fought with myself when there was no one to fight with. I always had my back. I guess now I have turned my back on myself. 

An intense urge to 'sleep away' the abundance of imagination in my head keeps me going these days. I know I cannot evade the exasperating realities of my life but my soul wants otherwise. It keeps clutching onto my hand, tugging on it whenever I try to start afresh, walking me through the eternal hopes of getting everything done right with just a wave of a wand. 

I don't know how long this will last. It's a phase. Or so everyone calls it. It forces me to want to shut my eyes closed and never open them. As if death could liberate me from this menace of a standstill that I am at. My whole existence is sounding questionable to myself. 

"Maybe death will do us apart."