Hope

A small light penetrates the dark. Lying in bed, trying to sleep, he sees the dim glow. Alcohol, sex, money, drugs, life... Infinity spiraling in front of him are his years. He see’s it for what it is in that moment. And he’s sees it is nothing. Curled up however he feels the force. The uncontrollable unexplainable force that tell us to go on, that there is some sort of purpose. He names in a survival instinct, but really we’re all just scared of the dark. Well no, we’re not scared of the dark, we’re scared of whats in it, or more importantly, whats not in it. 

Lying in bed he sees the small specs of a larger world. He says there’s nothing out there. Life is pointless and all he wants are simple pleasures. He kids himself into believing there is not greater purpose. 

In the darkness he feels the warm embrace of drink, standing idly back as it consumes his body and demons drag it away. In the breaks he feels the solid comfort of money, the small promise of safety and life in simple numbers. In the wilder, insane specs of his existence he feels his being get killed and turn to euphoria in one insane swipe. And then in his slow, monotones life he feels the sweat and pleasure of the human condition. 

But then, he doesn’t see the light, he notices it. He looks upon dawn and decides it’s for him. He kicks the floor and demands it’s his. But as he does it withdraws. He fails, he lives, he dies.