the malaise of my own internal straitjacket

im stuck. not moving. dying slowly. cemented in the still-frame still-lifeless plaster tomb where i languish paralyzed and cocooned where i still sadly breathe in vain as a carcass caked and clotted up here as the pale lightless unloved portrait trapped inside the straitjacket of all that is left of me. all of me that is so painfully pathetic, i make myself sick.

this is sickness. silence and solitude, endless futility. im nobody and im going nowhere and im going to die with nothing. im not loved. i cant move. all is wasted.

im dying. my breath weakens. my joy long dead and forgotten. my reason for existing was never even there. always an illusion. but there is no trickery anymore. no stimulus. no excitement.

im wasting life. every moment. this is an life or death emergency without sirens a crisis without sound without shaking or panic im too dried up stagnant so empty there is no music no song there is nothing on the horizon no color no light

this is not life. this is not living. this is nothing but a worthless wasting away of existence. crying without tears dying all alone hidden from the world as i disappear hoping in the final throes of flailing flaccid futile hope, the last drop of this dispirited hope straining in the solitary stiffened silence all sore sapped of purpose to wake up to a new day. , this hope to heal and be found and freed from this lightless life without life where i am lost and all alone unloved. hoping to move again. hoping to live again.

God please help me. PLEASE HELP ME.