Hurt

Here goes the pressure again. The air is squeezing my most sensitive muscle. Should I worry most about the lack of breathing or the blinding thoughts? My hands are shaking and my tears are burning. The fear is running through my skull. The more I dig to understand, the more I get hurt. 

In the midst of this tumultuous state, I reach the edge of agitation. Roaming in the room, wailing and howling. Impulses are streaming down my veins, bewildering me and driving me nuts. How long will it take? 

The more I dig to understand, the more I get hurt. 

This overwhelming sadness, what for? My incapacity of love wouldn't be the answer. Neither my loneliess nor the strangness of my character. It is not a fruit of the past or the present. It's not the shadow of my mistakes or the consequence of my sins. It's not because of my weakness and it's not my fault. 

Still the more I dig to understand, the more I hurt.