Always At The Bottom

The warehouse was vast and cold, its emptiness echoing my own desolation. I stood there, broom in hand, the weight of my past bearing down on me like an anchor. As I swept the cold, unforgiving concrete floor, I couldn’t help but be reminded of the life I had once led. A life filled with laughter, applause, and a sense of belonging. But now, all that remained were the ghosts of better days. Each payday felt like a cruel joke, a mockery of what I had once been. The money I earned barely made a dent in the mountain of debt that loomed over me, casting a shadow so large it seemed to engulf my entire existence. The holiday bonuses, once a reason for celebration, now served as a stark reminder of my financial plight. I found myself always at the bottom, trapped in a cycle of struggle and despair. The warehouse, a place I had once seen as a means to an end, had now become my purgatory. I moved through it like a wraith, a shell of the man I once was. The walls seemed to close in on me, constricting my very soul, and the silence was deafening. It was in these moments of solitude that I felt the loss of the relationships I once held dear most acutely. My heart ached for the people who had once stood by my side, who had believed in me. As I continued to sweep, the bristles of the broom scraping against the unforgiving ground, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of hopelessness. How could I ever find my way back to the stage, the place where I truly belonged? How could I make those who had once believed in me proud again? The questions swirled around me like the dust I was attempting to clear, never offering any answers.