A Hell of Your Own Design

And then you wake up on the floor in a pool of your own vomit wondering how it ended up like this. The projection of your fifteen year old self stands in front of you like a mirror from hell showing you what you used to be and could’ve been. You don’t blame your actions on other people anymore because you know you’re in a hell of your own design.

Why do you lie there motionless?

Why do you continue to let things happen?

Are you doomed to repeat the past or will you break the cycle?

Can you break the cycle, When every attempt to just widens the circumference?

Just a different road leading to the same shit town. A town of unfriendly faces and unhappy people. People you don’t know, but they know you. As you drive down the street you can feel every eye on you, like the sun’s heat yet the temperature’s below zero. The AC is broken, the stereo is broken, you cannot drown their cries.

They cry because of you.

You start to understand how it feels to be truly evil. Above all else you start to understand how it feels to be truly alone. It’s a feeling you cannot shake. The weeps and sorrow go from a loud cry to a sharp pain. A pain that grows within your chest. You feel it slowly, and then all at once. You take on the pain of everyone you’ve harmed. It’s a sickening feeling as you start to realize everyone’s face is yours, and the only one crying is you.

You start to understand how it feels to be truly empty. Above all else you start to understand how you made them feel. The sun is scorching, your skin feels like it’s crawling itself off your skeleton. The cry turns to a whimper, as you find yourself on the floor again. In a pool of your own vomit.

You stare back at yourself. He looks at you and says nothing. But you share an understanding. A sort of forgiveness.

This is a hell of your own design. And if you had the tools to create it, you have the tools to destroy it. You get up, you clean up the rotting pool of sick, and you start your day.

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