It's that potent despair.
Standing over a dead life.
Gone before the miracle appeared.
And mundane.
Some realization I'm not quite where I want to be.
Or as high as I'd like.
But tomorrow is a curse cast from my yesterdays.
Today is a wallowing disgust.
And, my past, an abomination.
Why am I alive.
Just to struggle through the hard bits and reward myself with sloth. I spend a lot of days staring at nothing.
Hours.  Just.  Passing by.

It really wasn't supposed to be like this.
This banal.
This mundane.

I was supposed to be some kinda.
Something.
By now.

The torpor is aftertaste.
The depression.
Par for the course.

I feel as if I have passed on through.
The mortal veil.
And come to my judgement.

One that does not bode.
Well for me.

I'll be condemned.
To more of this torpor.

This inadequate existence.