Last Resort

It feels like the room has closed in, along with the air – you can't breathe in or out. Everything is crumbling, ringing, screaming from within, while on the outside there's only a dull rhythm, as if the heart is no longer beating but knocking against the walls of a jar. The world is turning into a cramped aquarium where thoughts are the water, and each one scratches against the glass. Here, anger coexists with despair, and fatigue with hysterical laughter. I want to smash everything around me just to make it a little quieter. And there's a strange honesty in that scream: when you have nothing left to lose, all you can do is shout out that pain isn't weakness, but a way to prove you're still alive.