And I’m dead.
No soul left for the life yet to come. Consumed by procrastination and the burdening baggage of a body dragging itself from one room to another.
All enthusiasm flushed down the sewers of Time and youth. All love extinguished by the rains of Life, the reins of Life. All life begging for a door but dropping all the keys along the way.
Too sick for the green tea and too tired for the morning walk; only trapped.
Every breath is a reminder that I am doomed and every heartbeat the crescendo of my tragic symphony.
And the only scene where I smell the red roses is when I wander around my grave, wondering who dropped them by mistake.
And I’m dead. As dead as I will ever be.