The Weight of Existence (Slight TW?)

I am weary. Tired of the ceaseless drumbeat of days, the relentless march of time.
Each sunrise feels like a heavy burden, a weight I must shoulder with weary resignation.
The world, once vibrant and full of promise, now seems a dull, monotonous expanse.

The joy that once sparkled in my eyes has dimmed, replaced by a dull, lifeless glaze.
Laughter, once a familiar sound, now feels foreign and forced.
The people around me, sources of comfort and companionship, now seem out of reach..

I find myself retreating into a solitary world, a refuge from the chaos and noise of existence.
I seek solace in the quiet, the stillness, the absence of human interaction. Yet, even in these moments of solitude, I find no peace.
The emptiness within me persists, a gnawing void that nothing can fill.

I long for a release, a way to escape this endless cycle of suffering.
Death, once a dreadful prospect, now seems like a merciful end. I imagine it as a gentle sleep, a release from the burdens of consciousness.
But even the thought of death brings little comfort. It is a finality that somehow still terrifies me as much as it beckons.

I am trapped in a state of despair, a prisoner of my own mind.
The world outside me seems irrelevant, a distant echo that barely registers.
I am lost, adrift in a sea of hopelessness, with no sign of a shore.