There he sat on the sofa, talking the most vicious shit. Hurting everyone around him, carelessly breaking hearts and destroying confidences with words so rumbling and harsh, the volume so high that the sky would crumble down and he’d later be sure, a few neighbours would now know that he’s not the same guy who has lived in their neighbourhood for 5 years. He has changed. He is becoming violent towards others for apparently no fault of theirs. A nuisance towards their well-being.
He ain’t ever getting what he wants. He ain’t having it either. He’s become a riddle so difficult to solve, even the people closest to him have given up on him. He’s unapproachable. He’s locked shut with a stone inside his heart, so heavy that even tears are getting drowned. Happiness is what he seeks but it’s also his kryptonite. The closer he comes to it, the more he loses. He’d break down but how? He doesn’t know how he’d do it. With stabs and wounds so deep, he drags his body over the line everyday only to limply hang his head in shame for he can’t offer enough. The embarrassment of falling short everyday is now a blister on his feet – hurting, itching, irritating, demeaning!
Yet the only place where he finds some solace is in the arms of his wife who somehow sees through his shit but how long would she hold on as he falls into the abyss so deep, he ain’t ever coming back. He’s lost and he has lost his war against the world for nobody cares for the truth. He stands deserted by all his guts and respect.
A voice inside says – is it worth it?