Spiraling out

Everything hurts. So much to heal. A lot of time still. I wish it all to be over. I failed a 100 times. I am clueless to how to do this living thing. Detach. Let go. Loose expectations. What does one holds on to? Thin air. Like in my nightmares. Float away, with everything and everyone getting farther away and smaller and smaller in the distance, until all disappears, and I too, with the deafening sound of my own silence, and that heart, that stupid little thing still pumping away like a retarded creature, or a useless machine. What the hell for? Finish it already, I beg you. 

Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish it. Finish me.