The On-ramp of Despair

Imagine the entire contents of your current existence shamelessly overflowing the plastic barriers of an abandoned shopping cart, of which there is value to no one other than yourself.

Glancing into the eyes of judgemental strangers who despise my very existence, yet have no ability to fathom the true reality nor cause of this life sentence.

Exhaust fumes permeate my lungs as I beckon for any form of monetary compassion. Certainly, I’m an invisible afterthought as hurried motorist fixate upon their obnoxious cell phones and adhere to that robotic voice delving out each satellite driven direction.

The daily struggle and reality for most in this so-called ‘Rat Race’ is a mere nuisance in contrast to the vivid and soul piercing existence of which I have been forced to unwillingly ingest over the years. Submersed into relentless mental trauma of which there appears no viable route of recovery.

An emotional threshold of such having been breached and ransacked allowing nothing more than broken chards of memories in a distant past of which any form of comforting retrieval has been obliterated.

Aggressive chants pillage and plunder within my cerebral walls and stifle my attempts at any social acceptance. For I have ventured beyond the Gates of Hell and danced beneath the fiery chandeliers with the Devil himself to his favorite surreptitious sonata.