Slowly Dying.

They say that death comes as a surprise to most of us.
But not all of us.
Some feel her approach, slow and sweet, drawing us in, bit by bit.
We are already hers by the time she arrives.

I am a slave to my emotions, and my emotions are a slave to my circumstance.
My body might look young, but it doesn't feel young. It feels ragged, worn, and heavy. Leaden. My moves are as through treacle, or custard.
My brain sees it all happening, but can do naught about it. It slowly wears from lack of use, finding only moments of clarity.

The world feels like a dream. Or something distant, far away.
There is too much pain, too much suffering, too much injustice, too much idiocy, too much violence, that could be so easily ended - but it is not.
And the world continues to turn. And the world continues to burn.

I once had hope for this world. For this people.
But it feels as though this hope has been snatched away, obscured by the harsh realities of today.
The world is dying. In so many different ways. And we could stop it. But we won't.

Because we're too busy. Or too comfortable. Or too rich. Or too stubborn. Or too oblivious. Or too ill-informed.
Or too unable to do anything, when the weight of the world seems to be on our very shoulders, and it is slowly crushing us into the ground.

I feel like I am slowly dying. I have felt this for a long time, in different ways. But never more than now.
Never worse than now.
And I do not know how to stop.
I do not know if I have the strength, or the energy, to stop.

I do not particularly want to die. Neither do I want to hurt myself, or anyone else.
But living just keeps getting harder. And harder.
And I'm a middle-class white guy in a good house in Australia. If it's this shit for me, then damn.

This is an emergency, folks. Whether you believe it or not, our planet is in crisis. In so many ways.
If we don't do something about it now - we might not be around for that much longer.