in the dark

should i talk about my nightmares? my utter disbelief in a better future? my damning loss of hope. i guess the depression is real.

this knowledge that progress doesn't bring "happiness" is all too real. what am i doing here? saving my life? avoiding arrest, torture and slow death? but is this life?

dark clouds scarecely interrupted by shy sun? attempts at conversation with different people that feel mundane and repeated? going to new places without any real excitement? hugs and intimacy that doesn't bring any peace of mind? people too scared to touch, to open up? sleep that doesn't bring comfort? familyless life? a ghost of deportation? a dreadful sense of boredom? a knowledge of worse days to come? a fear that the breakdown is coming and it will be ugly? knowing that it doesn't get better? anticipating many boring days to come? anticipating much worse racism experiences?

how do i go on and why? how do i put an end of it and why? that suicide vision that came to me at a club while trying to get high was too scary. why was it scary? it must have gotten to my mind for a reason. was it reading the hours? or that novel before, beer at the snookers club? the vision was really dark. grim. fatalistic. like my nightmares.

nightmares of being outed. nightmares of not being able to leave egypt. nightmares of renewed chances of goodbyes. but these goodbyes are harder, because we were more aware of the horrors to come. of the lack of redemption or reconciliation. of the extent of loss and the pain of separation.