It's Not Easy To Be Me

Black Splatters On The White Wall

There was a time when I thought of myself as a wall.
A wall made of sturdy material like adobe or any stone that could wither time.
A wall that has a distinct yet enigmatic facade that often made people wonder what material it is really made of.
A wall that could convey different stories yet without having to actually verbalize it.
A wall that was straightly erected and coated with nothing but pristine glossy white paint.

But that was a long time ago.

I stopped thinking of myself as that grandeur wall the day I realized I was tainted.

Earlier on in life, I was corrupted by shadows that devoured my innocence.
Innocence that was lost forever and I realized that I was naked.
The nakedness that exposed me to pain and sorrow.
Pain and sorrow that turned into rage.
Rage that led to destruction.
Destruction that released self-pity.
Self-pity that bred helplessness.
Helplessness into hopelessness.
Hopelessness that gave birth to apathy.
Apathy that created the vortex of oblivion.

This cycle was never ending always heading to nothingness all because I knew then that I was tainted.

Several years, thereafter, my car crashed into a wall.
A wall in the hood where terror resides day and night.
A wall that causes nothing but an eye soar.
A wall that was decaying, violated and almost in ruins even.
I backed away slowly as I mended my bruised body and saw something astounding.

A graffiti.

My knees dropped on the dirt and all I could hear was myself crying and laughing at my foolishness.

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Black Splatters on the White Wall by S. Paguia is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
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