your body feels feeble, dragging along every day as if to say this shambling husk of a man is still conscious, as if you have a purpose, though in truth, you know better. it's all distractions, distractions from the inevitable feeling of not being enough, as if you do not truly belong. it's consuming at times, but you've learn to repress these feelings to the extent of them no longer being as consuming as they once were. 

or so you think.

is this another façade? yet another layer of irony that you yourself are not conscious of yet? what a joke. it almost makes you laugh. but that takes energy, of which you are in short supply. your reserves left for yourself in this very moment as some consolation to yourself- saying you deserve this.

you walk. you don't know where you're going, but you walk forwards.

your legs take you away from the city, away from the noise, away from everything. you find the lack of people comforting, the lack of noise, the lack of corruption, the lack of anything that would further cement your place in the current world calming. 

nothing matters in this moment, nothing but the expanse before you and how long the rubber of your shoes last until you need to turn back.

that or the snap back to reality that was sure to eventually come. as for when that will be? not sure. but it is of utmost certainty that it will come.