I am Sisyphus.
Bound to my own personal and repetitive hell.
But few people can see the rock I battle with.
They only see the evidence that my body is tired of fighting.
Those who do see the rock don't understand that it's not as simple as just letting it go.
I fight my way to the top.
And just when I think I'll finally see the other side of the hill and send my stone rolling down away from me, I slip, and it runs me over.
I'm left with wounds of war.
Only to start all over again.
When all I truly want is rest.
I will heal. One day.
No comments:
Post a Comment