She is neither a masterpiece nor a disaster , Living in the devil's den, lost all the sanity , Holding back the pain and crawling deep inside the darkest nights, Found herself bleeding all the way , Tears of distress with fizzling knees Her frail mind played tricks with her That she can never escape , Falling deep into the ocean of darkness where the light can never set it's foot in...
HOW DOES IT FEEL, WHEN YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT a feeling really is? ------------- Chained by hatred and insecurities, unstable mind with dreams like a loaded gun kept beside, when someone approaches you. And you like an emotionless psychopath chose to neglect tears.
/As winter approaches dead leaves and summer approaches dead flowers, you don't care what their autumns and springs mean?/
stating empathetically, you assume omneity, but whisper your stories at a dark 3am, seated beside empty railway tracks, covered with snow.
/walk aways are usually the option in every problem, yet you chose it every time, like a routine. tired, yet honestly you speak about wounds with strangers at the omelas, while sipping a cup of fresh honey extracted from the "dew-adored flowers"./
exhausted to put a facade of being justice itself, answering the questions half heartedly, someone who finds the other half of your heart left by the fireplace in omelas, ready to be burnt. You shut their call, denying the fact, "the heart ain't mine."
tears well up in the corners of your eyes, as only you knew, how it feels to get drenched in those lovely metaphors, bask in those lovely proses and feel warm with those lovely fictional personas left in your bookshelf be crying along with you every night.
people laugh sarcastically, seeming "you know no springs." only you knew, /you once stored those roses carefully in your book but the zephrys of hatred blew those petals away one by one. Now what's left is just thorns. little did they know that, amongst the nodes you cultivate the cauliflorous patterns.
lilies and dreamflowers grow from your thorns of roses alone./
It's hard to survive on days where even dogs don't make you happy. When your fav song hurts your ears, when your fav food makes you wanna puke. When you can't focus on the things you love the most. When you just can't stop cutting yourself.
When you spent your whole life being lonely af, You get familiar with it. The four walls, lonely tears, pitch dark, eternal suffering, you get used to it.
When you've been used to being used, You can only think of, 'Are they tired of me yet?', 'What else do they want from me?' when someone stays.
When you spent years chasing the heart that is scared to love, It's really hard to love as you've never been hurt.
When you live in a society, where people get uncomfortable seeing anything other than a smiling face, It's hard to represent what you feel.
People say they support you with your mental illness, And when you show the symptoms, they leave you saying they can't be with a psycho.
People say they're your friend. And when you come out as trans ace, They say they could fuck it out of your system. Little do they know, that it's rape.
People laughing at my funny stories, little do they know that I made them up. People thinking I'm an always happy person, little do they know I'm suicidal. Friend yelling at me, little do they know that they triggers me. Friend staring at my chest, little do they know for a sec they turn into my rapist. People being mean, people who birthed me, and who hurt me, little do they know when I die they got my blood on their hands.
My mind can't perceive long words anymore. My brain races the entire day, thought to thought to thought without digging in too deep. It doesn't stop Or rest at a place or a house It runs and runs and runs
It's driven by the fear that if it pauses, if it digs a little deeper, it'll drop low low enough to escape my body and dive into the soil, reach there where worms and mites breathe, and my mind and sanity will be their feast.
Yet not low enough to not bounce back to my navel and magnetize all of me to that point. My conscience, my soul, my very being ceases for a moment And then--- everything is black. every movement is decelerating. I can hear a blurred ringing somewhere in a distance. my eyebrows are narrowing. can I breathe? why am I clenching my teeth? I curl my toes and carve crescent nail marks on my rice-white sole trying to lighten this perplexity.
it's all happening too fast. I shut my eyes tighter. Tighter and tighter and tighter until it feels like my eye sockets will swallow my eyeballs or have they already? I can't write anymore I've forgotten how to weave Is my mind is fickle? Or is it static?
I slap myself Harder and harder and harder How did I get here? Where is me? Nature doesn't please me anymore. Poetry feels invariably tasteless. I can't tell facts from fiction. What is happening to me?
I try to breathe in and breathe out But my airway is stuffed with nectar and bees. Why, yes, I do agree with you: This sounds all too cinematic.
As normal as the wind i too had dreams and desires to fill my heart with and when i came across one...my heart stopped for a moment as if the blood has entirely drained. It was a woman with such divinity in her eyes, as life she seeded something in me. I couldn't find the magic she casted on me but i realised that she had seeded a tree, tree that lasts for eternity and it is love...
I never searched for love yet my heart craves for it. She gave irresistible memories and love has grown in every part of my heart...
Before the tree could yield a fruit she left my heart, which is the only temple i find sacred.
Her memories stayed with me as a scar but it is what have of her. And the tree she seeded in me has grown enough to break my heart...Than love my pain has become eternal, it went on for seasons without reasons. My entire life had drowned into depression, making everyday a misery...
Yet I love and live with what's left of her magic...cuz she's divine.