Wake up, work, go home, repeat…
A never-ending time loop as if the world is not
moving
Or I am frozen in time without a chance for change
– I am suffocating.
Managing expectations of what the adulthood is supposed to be - the opposite of me
I am no longer alive – dead inside.
I walk through days like I live in an abandon asylum
– lights are flickering
The corridors are dirty, endless maze of lost hope
– lost in time.
Each step I take is humming the same dull song of
duty and decay.
The clock is my executioner, the calendar chained to my
mind.
I fake my purpose with long to-do lists; endless
chain of duties,
Meeting my goals with processes and procedures which keep stealing my spark,
Yet pretending this shell of a life is what I
chose – this existence is so wrong.
…
I hate what I have become, enslaved of sick
ambitions, never happy,
Always pushing further – it has no end…
I chase goals that vanish once completed,
Like mirages on the edge of reason - living and
breathing in the vast corporate desert.
What is success, if it guts me empty?
What is growth, if it costs me my sanity?
I am left so hollow once I get in and out the place that
sucks me dry.
This isn’t living – it’s rehearsing death in slow
motion - animated version of success.
I want to scream, but I have forgotten how.
My voice is buried beneath countless meetings,
bills, and forced chats—
Deafen by the rhythm of a shallow routine,
Drowned out by the noise of doing just enough to
get by.
I speak fancy words I don’t mean, smile when I
feel nothing,
Nod through conversations that test my patience.
How did I let this happen?
When did the primal instinct for survival replace the
desire of living?
When did I stop asking the questions that mattered the most to me?
When did the endless Curiosity of mine became such
a luxury, a wonder, a distraction?
I traded my spark for stability I didn’t even
want.
Now I measure life in deadlines and quiet
disappointments,
Shiny reports and pages of documentation
Burying the questions that once lit up my mind.
Each day feels so borrowed, I have had enough —
A slow drift from who I was to "who I have to be".
And I barely recognize myself anymore - the
silence inside me is growing louder.
…
Another weekend, lifeless on the couch with enough
to just create something once a week
When emotions running high before the drastic
energy decline,
A glimmer of hope and purpose drown into the
infinite fatigue.
Words drift in but I cannot make them stay with me
– chased by the exhaustion I coupled with.
And I whisper to myself – "Maybe next time" knowing too well I have been lying to myself,
The words I have said countless times – the echo of forgotten promise that feels heavier every time.
