My chest hurts. It burns, but it hurts too. Only the left side. I can’t tell if I’m imagining it. I remember a conversation I had earlier in the day when I jokingly said that I don’t fear death. I do, but I’m obscenely curious of it. I keep pushing, my chest shrinks and tightens as my arms close to each other and it feels like my heart is pressed against my skin. I can feel the beating in my wrists and I get light headed. I want to see what happens. I finish the movement let my arms relax and then…nothing. The pain grows faint. I check my phone. I feel the same. I’ve discovered no mystery, hadn’t approached any brink. Like a child dipping his toe into a puddle having experienced no ocean. I wonder if my musings, even though they are self targeting, are cliche so they can be understood. I wonder what that means. I heard someone say that we spend our whole lives holding back and I wonder what that means if I’m pressing forward. Confused and lost in a self imposed existential black hole rife with irrelevant ideas that have no unique qualities. Thought before a million times by a billion people. Written just this way in this manner, with this tone. I feel it dripping in the back of my head. Pooling liquefaction of creativity and design. I consume endlessly in an effort to distract and lose more and more in doing so. My eyes refuse to focus and my gaze spins out on the screen. I can scream but I choose not to.