Nausea

Disgusted. Lightheaded. At times, in want to vomit. Slept less or overslept, still, the body moves out of routine. No life. No motivation. “Education is a mission.” Tell that to the walking corpse. The flame slowly fading whilst ash piling up from the first kindle. Eyes that see colors and objects only – no meaning, just things. Brain activity as usual. Thoughts fail to astonish anymore. Could be Solomon’s dread?

Sisyphus’ labor. Blood and sweat all for a measly play of inertia. I hear sounds, not words. I utter. Just vibrations and associations, nothing awe-inspiring. People are there like the air I breathe – effortlessly there. Cannot feel envy from their smiles ever since I rarely have some as I tell myself: “what’s the point?”. In want to remember the first kindle. In want to burn again for the world.

Tired yet living. Dragging one’s matter to meet the clock only to rest for another day of exploitation. Sisyphus willed himself to be. Hesitant to abandon the labor he only knew. Afraid to step up as the world is not promising as it is. Tied to his ideologies turning to illusions. Yet, in want to feel the novelty, even the sting of euphoria.

Appears, functions, delivers, and executes. Made new associations with bodies soon to deteriorate. Jived with the pretentious wannabees and sincere servants. Cannot even become the negative to the obvious static that needs contradicting as the boulder simply keeps rolling down as it reaches the peak.

Bound in a cycle losing sense. Bound to motion without will. Freedom turns to farce as it dissolves within this broken machinery. In the beginning, resistance is strong against being a cog. Now, the machine dehumanizes, stripping awe, novelty, and will as actions no longer bring fruit as the machine cuts them by the bud.

Momentarily allow me to prevent straightforwardness of my language. Bare tongue has given no new thought and maybe these allusions will as I try to scrape from the bottom of my existence for that first kindle.