Eliterate

It was two years back when I made the trip to Brisbane and saw for my very eyes how life could have been for me. With determination, I could achieve that physique I always wanted. That muscular biceps, ripped abs, broad shoulders, puffed chest. That dangerous specimen. Danger was what I had wanted to exude at first, but somehow it strayed to perfection. Perfection in every sense of the word, coupled with teenage immaturity and childish desires. It was love which I lacked most, that fueled my quest for the impossibility that perfection was defined by me.

Upon the commencencement of it, I started to close up. I revived my condescending view on people. Unbeknown to many, all those feelings I felt were never actually properly bottled and vented with weights. The barbell curls, squats, benchpresses were and did nothing in comparison to what I hid within the deepest durances of my soul. Those emotions just kept piling up. Like a snowball, it became heavier in ice, so much so that I lost myself in the exxagerated blizzard.

As the prophets within my head chanted words of hope, they rang silent as action never ever took place. Hope is a big word, despite its stature. But I was not big enough for hope. As it turned out, the beacon of light that shone and glorified during the storm was a mirage all along. I thought I had seen it, I thought the coordinates were real, but I naysayed and swayed. It was never true, it was just another illusion and a sorry excuse to kill time.

Now, I am left battered and broken. I've not weathered the harshest of climates or the worst of situations if you were to view the world in a bird's eye view. But I am weathered and tired. Ending my life now is not an option, but death is inevitable. I no longer fear it as I did in the past. After all, when you;ve been searching for something for your entire life, and you've not found it yet, wouldn't the deadly sin sloth creep into your mind and try to bambozzle you into giving up. Yet, a bullet through the head is far from working.