More out of the blue

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Weight. Heavy, sure, steady pressure. Resignation to fear. Desperate, but no will, no strength, to do desperation justice. I forlorn my life away. My guilt climbs on. More weight, it’s too much. I can’t breathe, I can’t move. Even more guilt now. Its overwhelming. No more tears to cry, or energy to cry if I had them.

Yet all this is better, much better, than the cold empty that comes sometimes. That is what terrifies me more than any scary thing ever to have formed itself in my imagination-however hideous. That cold empty cannot be born. It is the absence of everything, the absence of joy, love, peace, life itself. Most horrifying is the absence of God. Will hope come in the morning? I cannot tell, for it is morning now.