This week’s Dungeon Prompt asks: “With your final breaths, to what do you cling?”
This is a tough question! To be honest, I’m tempted to give the expected answer of family. Either that or of all the things I could have done had I lived longer.
But since I have no way of knowing, I’m going to hazard a guess.
When I’m at my worst, I always want to stop what I’m doing and cry. In these moments, I feel like I’m falling apart and I can’t handle anything anymore. I usually come to the conclusion that there is no way out of what I have to deal with.
For as long as I can remember, I haven’t been a very hopeful person. I’ve prayed for ways to get out of the misery I live with on a daily basis, but it still persists. I always blame myself for my circumstances. I always ask myself what I’m doing wrong or what I’m not doing that I should be doing.
The limits of my thought capabilities seem to be limited to hopelessness/self depreciation. Even when I do feel better, it doesn’t last long because something happens to make the hopelessness return. Does everyone feel this way at some point? I’m starting to think that I’m abnormal in this respect.
I spend a lot of my waking energy thinking about my faults and how my efforts aren’t amounting to much. I hate it, but I don’t know how to stop it.
What would I think about when I’m dying, then? I suspect that my thoughts wouldn’t be much different. For some reason, I feel like all I would think about is that people wouldn’t care whether I lived or died. Since my brain is weird, I would probably go into “writer mode” and start thinking about life in the most poetic way possible.
Would I find peace in those moments? If I was dying, the worst would have already happened. Perhaps I would see the effect my existence has had on others. Perhaps I would finally understand that what I did with my life until that point mattered.
I’ve always wondered if life ever gets any easier to understand since I am still young. I’ve always prayed for clarity in my life. As I’m writing all this, I am realizing that life is meaningless without any sort of journey. If I was dying, that would mean that I had lived a pretty meaningful life because I had embarked on a journey that had led me there.
I’ve run out of ideas now. So I will end there and post my poem for the week. Sorry this ended up so negative. Have a great week everyone!
Is there a such thing
as a final moment
when the angels sing
and end all our torment?
Perhaps there is a life
amidst all the strife
We just cannot see
what it means to be
There is also a death
when we don’t take our final breath
If we cannot grow
where does our soul ultimately go?
Perhaps I just think too much
and life ends up in a rush
Does it differ
or does it defer
from what we prefer?
I don’t even know
I just have to find out
What life is really like
and that it isn’t full of wrong or right
Just journeys and discoveries
of our attempt to grow