Obscenity

I feel like day by day, I'm losing a little part of me. There are so many endeavors I wish to pursue, so many dreams I want to live and fulfill, but in the end how many of them will actually happen? Slowly branches are pruned from my character, and it frightens me. My mother didn't raise me a killer. Is it so hard to chase my dreams whilst simultaneously appreciating art, literature and the simple beauty of our world? Seemingly it is so. I'm not even worthy of the life that I live. I am gifted with everything a boy could need to make a life for himself, but still I sit here in the dark of my room, typing into the deep chasm of the internet as my mind and muscles rot away. I am not nearly as clever as I used to be. I am not nearly as strong as I used to be. I am not nearly as fast as I used to be. I have become a slave to gluttony and sloth, lazing comfortably as ideals blow away on the breeze. What ever happened to the boy who wanted to save people and make the world a better place? People seem to hold the opinion that by disregarding these sentiments I have matured by I fear I have simply become lax in my duties. I'm sick of this repugnant and obscene way of life. There are times I long for a simpler life. To not feel the burden of hope but to simply be happy to settle with a lovely woman and lead an uneventful but happy life. But it will always be there. The voice in my head, knowing that I will have never extended my reach far enough. That I will never have achieved my potential. The voice that knows of the monster within. I am nothing more than deformed and deluded. I have become that which I swore to always fight. My feet are bound with shackles, my hands cuffed before me. I am led slowly, yet surely, to the gallows. I taught the hangman how to tie the noose, he cannot look me in the eye as he puts the coarse rope around my neck. Time slows as I fall through the air, my waisted youth flashing before my eyes. Then, black eternal. I wish for nothing more than answers. Though those I seek I know I shall not find. All I see is how bloated and corrupted I have become. I used to be a boy of many talents. Now I have few. I never did things like the other kids did, and I hate myself for it. Time is marching forever forward, and I grow older day by day. I must find sanctuary from this torment, or surely it will be the end of me.