• despair 89w

    imagine a bird. broken beak and bleeding gums. claws towelled in blood. feathers scattered on the floor. bruised hope. failed attempts. staring into the oblivion. crashing into the terrors of the dark. feeling blue. flap flap flap. staggered breath. unable to take flight. imagine it as a last fleck of hope stomped down by a passerby. no more fluttering. only silence.

    that bird is me. i'm that bird. and i'm dead tired of the inability to love myself. it's almost tragic. i continue to torture myself with toxic thoughts - enough to give me a cardiac arrest. "calm the fury. be happy. what part of it do you not understand?". i long for an answer. i genuinely do. i am spaced out. on the edge of death. and the urge to give up is brewing stronger with every passing day. i don't know where to begin. i wonder what it'd be like to love unconditionally just for a day. to feel the same being reciprocated. or even the half of it. but the reality is so much to bear. i'm flat out exhausted and there's not a scrap of energy left in me to soften the gelid body - residue of a soul that was long dead.

    i keep dreaming of dying when all i really wish for is to be free. from the guilt hovering my mind. the noose around my neck. sometimes i feel hands around my neck. it's suffocating. i can visualise myself lying on the floor. in fragments of anxiety and anger. i am breathing but i'm not alive. i can't tell the difference, honestly. i'm losing everything i once daringly built. and i can't put an end to any of it. cause i'm my own destructor - with daggers in both my hands and a crown made of thorns working against me.

    my heart is a giant pit and there are too many wounds and holes to fill. while i eagerly wait to watch my petals blossom, i'm breathless. and convinced that i'm gonna wither away. it's one of those nights when i wish someone could sing me to sleep. it's been so long i've closed my eyes. i fear i'll never open them again if i do.

    i want to draw a heart and fill it with colours. blue. pink. purple. and yet, all i manage to draw is a pair of eyes with tears trickling down. and smudged mascara concealing tales of its own. i lost a track of triggers. everything makes me insecure lately. pricks my will. i catch myself crying and i don't remember why. my head hurts. my jaw hurts. my chest hurts. everything hurts. everything. i'm not sure if death could get any worse. i carry the weight of my sadness and it keeps feasting on me. there's a knot in my throat. it feels wrong. everything feels wrong. it all feels so heavy. i never knew how to take care of my heart. it's a shame that i still don't.

    i took myself for granted. it has become a habit now. i traded my peace for nothing. from the moment sun rises to the moment it sets, i'm waist deep in my thoughts. consumed by the wave of overwhelming emotions. and i don't know what i feel anymore. it feels like i'm lying on my deathbed. chin up, back straight. they say "stop crying" oh well. i can't talk. i can't move. my bones are damaged. and so am i. it's terrible at night. there's a noise haunting me, nudging me to prod the dagger straight into my rib cage. i try to look past it, hoping for it to disappear. but it's still here. mourning for a mysterious death. and i think to myself, "how long will i pretend to be alive before i ultimately boil and die?". there are no answers. only silence.

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    the world told me
    I was blue and
    I showed them
    my darkest shade.