Franz Kafka once said, “the meaning of life is that it stops.”
What if life stops
Before it is destined to?
What if you’re just breathing,
Because death is stubborn
And won’t take your request
To free you
From the burden
Called life?
Your heart beats
And the echoes resonate
In your ears,
Reminding you
How empty you are inside.
Your shoulders
Feel heavy
With all the weight you carry:
The regrets,
The disappointments,
The failures,
And the disasters.
You inhale,
But the air is toxic,
Choking you
As you gasp,
Struggling to take in
Whatever air the others
Have left in their will
For you.
You walk over the footsteps
Of someone
You’re influenced by.
But when they leave,
You can’t retract
Back to yourself.
The footprints are now washed away.
You shed your skin,
And wear what’s laid
In front of you,
Anything that wraps
An image of ideal,
Woven by society’s
Definition of perfect.
Do you call this life?
I’m still looking
For the meaning
That will finally
Lead me to salvation.
If you like this article, check out: https://stories.harnessmagazine.com/lifes-what-you-script-it/
