sometimes when im sad i pretend i dont exist. whos to say i do. i just kinda shut everything out. i fixate and obsess on fiction. on fakeness. on lies. i dont know. nothing matters, nothing real exists dont you get that its better that way dont you get that when i exist so do you and i cant handle that i cant handle the sound of my heart in my ears i cant handle the vibrations through the eras that only brush other people but rock my entire world and not in a good way. dont you get that. we dont have to have the same values, that is not important, all i know is that its safer here. i can feel the pressure but its easier to ignore here. i dont matter to anyone. i dont even matter to myself. i dont need you here. i dont need you. i dont need you. i dont need you goddamit its the truth isnt it? when the doctor asks me where it hurts i will not come back here. when they ask me why i am cold i will not come back here. i feel the finality like a gravestone. there is no resurrection there is no coming back. this story is over and its carved in stone and its done and i dont care if im okay and i dont care if your okay and i just dont care about anything anymore i just dont want to be so alone i just dont want to feel the wind knocking me down as i watch everybody else ride on it. everybody else is riding this wave i just want to get on it i just dont want to drown why does nobody see me drowning why am i stuck i just dont want to be alone dont you get that dont you get thats its easier if the wind doesnt exist if the other people dont exist if i dont exist and the whole scenerio is entirely obliterated if you are obliterated dont you get that thats easier dont you get that i want to be strong and i want to be different and i want to be able to survive. why is it so hard to survive. why am i so boring so goddamn ordinary. i dont know much but i do know that the flowers in my lungs are dead but i still cant breathe and the fire in my eyes was just a reflection but the burns still remain and that whatever i thought i was was a complete lie and everything is insignificant and thats all it ever will be. goddamn do you still not understand.
do you remember the first time he looked at you with the very fire that burned you alive? do you remember the spark that caught only to discover it was a falsity? do you remember what the water even felt like? oh god what have they done other then take your hand out of boiling water and straight into the source of everything that has ever hurt you. how have you found peace in such a monstrous place. do you even feel your lungs being pulled out of your chest or are you just fascinated at the creativity of a bloody eagle. do you even see yourself drowning in desire or are you just fascinated by the desperation of lust. do you remember the first time he looked at you with a reflection of your own fire? do you remember how you felt when you realized you had given him the tools to aid you in burning yourself alive? The truth is you would’ve burned regardless. At-least there was some beauty this way.
wednesdays were made to be spent in cute cafes watching pointless soccer games silently cheering when chelsea wins and secures a spot in the top sixteen wondering if the silence is properly placed and wondering why run on sentences feel magical even when there is no meaning behind them
mY WRiTING SUCKS bUT SO DOES EVErYTHinG ELse
I didn’t understand a lot of things and the sadness was one of them. I didn’t know how to handle it or what do to do. I wasn’t sure what to hold onto when the only things that screamed at me anymore were numbers. They echoed and haunted me and IWASNTED IT TP BE OKAY BUT HOW COUDL IT
I tried to think of a metaphor to describe that feeling of impending doom and this is what I came up with :
Nothing exists anymore. Even your anxiety is purely a figment of your imagination. You did this to yourself silly girl. You did this to yourself. Look around, no one else seems to be aware that the walls are closing in, nobody else sees the ghosts circling your head, nobody else knows your demons. The scariest thing is that our minds do not end. This is where our disabilities lie. This is where our capabilities die. Nobody else sees the storm raging, nobody even flinches. Your eyes forget to be a window to your soul, your tongue to be honest, your body forgets to be your own and becomes a stranger. The storm worsens and your body becomes incapable of containing the mess of water and debris. They need a way out, they need release, so your eyes forget to be walls and become waterfalls and pour and pour and pour and everything ends in this impending doom that takes over. This is your fault baby girl.
I spent my life with the smell of coffee wafting in the windows but never once tasting it because I believe in keeping beauty close but not in holding hands with it. Once you hold hands you become susceptible to its touch, to its power, to its hurt. This may be a metaphor for you.
I spent my life reading stories halfway because I didn’t want to know if the cute couple stayed together. Once left to imagination, that is the only time you will find real love. This may be a metaphor for you.
I spent my life writing poems that I never showed to anyone because I didn’t want to be seen in bare naked words. Once you are seen in your purest form you cannot go back. This may be a metaphor for you.
This is a metaphor for you.