No lupin

 Dairy- Do not care about the date





  I woke up without knowing if I was really awake.

The lights flickered. My thoughts didn’t.

Still.

Like a corpse pretending to breathe.


Death.

Is it failure? Or is it success in disguise?

Is it the only form of truth left?


I don’t feel anything.

I haven’t felt in days. Maybe longer.

Success, failure, two masks worn by the same hollow face.


There’s no reason.

There should be, but there isn’t.

I keep trying to find one, scratch it out of silence, carve it into my skin.

But there’s nothing underneath. Just more silence.


I fell.

I stood up.

I fell again.

There’s no meaning in getting back up anymore.

Only momentum. Only inertia.


Maybe that's all I am now:

A body moving forward because it doesn’t know how to stop.

Or maybe it does and chooses not to.

Because stopping feels too much like dying,

and dying still feels too much like living.


They say hope is a weapon.

But I am unarmed.


There’s no escape.

Only the illusion of choice.

Only the echo of a door that never really existed.


Today is the 32nd again.

The day we’re all supposed to rest.

But I haven’t moved in weeks.

Rest from what?


No way out.

No reason.

No light.

Just the quiet hum of a world that keeps spinning without me.


They call it peace.

But there is a noise beneath the silence.

It itches. Pulses. Unshaped.

Like a dream you forget but wake up shaking from.

Like meaning trying to be born in a world that forgot how to speak.

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