Aza Holmes

I am from pain. Scratch that, I am, to put bluntly, pain. I seem to exist simply to just exist or inevitably concede to this spiraling madness in which consumes everything that I am or ever will be. I am the gnawing sensation of pure anxiety to cloud any happiness my friends attempt to bring me. All the while I sit in physical silence and my mind races with any possibility of doom I could happen upon myself. The world is too loud. Oppressing upon the eternal emptiness of the head with petty arguments though we will all return to dust in the ground as our last destination- and all of this will be worthless. We are grasping at the need to be needed or at least leave some sort of an indent on this earth during lifespans that are gone in the blink of an eye.