Done.
Inspired by the fear of being average; All i am saying is... i'm tired. 🇵🇸|
| Journal |
Floating through the hours in golden fields and golden light
with years passed in blues and sorrow and numbness
Listening to muted songs and voices as the silence grows louder
Skin burning from starvation and chill
Fear eats the soul no longer living
Anger fuels the mind still reeling
For how can one person be this alone
when surrounded by golden fields and golden light
ping ponging back and forth between seeing immense beauty everywhere and feeling deeply like i am in hell
(via arabyian)
I think my heart is too full of nothing
Mere remanence of humanity stain my soul
I am living off of scraps
of love
of family
of happiness
The emptiness has become too much to breathe through
And I find myself too alone to keep existing so viciously.
“I am homesick for a place I am not sure even exists. One where my heart is full. My body loved. And my soul understood.”— Melissa Cox
The Knife of uncertainty bleeds me dry
As I stand on the precipice,
Aware of the blood rushing through my veins
Aware of my heart beating in my chest
Aware of my skin too tight on my bones
The Whip of sorrow stings my back
As I stare at the ocean beneath the cliff
Drying the cold tears on my cheeks
Clotting my bleeding arms
Soothing the burns on my shoulders
The chill of tomorrow ices my bones
As I try to balance on broken feet
With unstable grounds, shaking
With a knife at my throat
With a whip piercing my skin
I hold out my hand to someone
Anyone
What do I do with this pain?
What do I do with myself anymore?
I am a walking hollow shell of person
Buried under the cold, uncertainty and sorrow
Bring me the eternal fade of dusk //
Deliver me there, far from the tyranny
of the light of the golden sun –
from where eyes I do not,
and cannot see,
might chance upon me –
Deliver me far and away
from the awareness
of gawking fools
and presumptuous men –
Give me a twilight that stretches on –
far into the gentle grasp
of eternity //To spaces forever between,
where I might see but not
be seen –
neither here
nor there,
caressed in dull oranges and
dreary purple skies
(via writerscreed)