Woke

 I have read somewhere that we should stop using the term 'brutally honest'.

As much as I would like to put an end to the usage of the term, I also feel that I can only be nothing but brutal in uttering words to articulate this indefinite limbo of pain.

I can't find myself to be anything but brutal. 

It has been years and each time I wake up in the morning I open my eyes to this ever-increasing temptation to give up the ghost.

I wake up to be reminded that I have nothing to look forward to in my life.

I wake up to the loud noise of the television as it is watched by deaf ears.

I wake up to the thud of a body hitting the floor and the blood-soaked head and fractured bones where adrenalin kicks in to respond to emergencies.

I wake up to pressing deadlines at work and too tough decisions that need to be made.

I wake up to messages of scammers and swindlers.

I wake to count the days of how cruel the pandemic has been to people I know and love.

I wake up to the darkness of political realities where hope seems futile wishful thinking.

I wake up to realize that the years have passed and I am lonely.

I wake up lonely.

Daily.

Feeling cold and alone.

Alive but dying a painful death on the inside.