I think today I’ll write
Amidst the chirping of birds
And with sleepless delusions
Circling my mind:
I have missed these words.
They enveloped me,
Yet I had none to give
And no means to take.
I have since found the spark I was looking for -
Some sort of inspiration -
But I’ve learned it was not enough.
I am still searching.
You know, I feel a bit useless now.
There’s this sort of numb pain…and I know that’s dumb - how can pain be numb? Yet there it is; pain in the numbness. A bit like drowning, I suppose. There’s just so much weight and tossing and tumultuous stirring and it just slices through you until you can’t feel anymore. And there’s pain in that. And there’s pain in the fact that I feel trapped. There’s pain in the fact that I couldn’t escape if I tried. And then there’s pain in the fact that I’ve learned I don’t want to escape.
I just want to sink.
You know, I feel a bit useless now.
There’s this sort of numb pain…and I know that’s dumb - how can pain be numb? Yet there it is; pain in the numbness. A bit like drowning, I suppose. There’s just so much weight and tossing and tumultuous stirring and it just slices through you until you can’t feel anymore. And there’s pain in that. And there’s pain in the fact that I feel trapped. There’s pain in the fact that I couldn’t escape if I tried. And then there’s pain in the fact that I’ve learned I don’t want to escape.
I just want to sink.
I haven’t visited you in a while.
I’m not quite sure what that means.
Do I say sorry?
I miss you, yes, but
Where has it all gone?
I can’t remember anything anymore.
That scares me.
And I don’t mean to disappoint,
But I can’t say I quite regret it.
Though, I’m not proud either.
Perhaps I’ll just wait it out, then.
Snow suffocates silently.
Dearly beloved:
We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of ourselves, for we have slipped away. We dress in black, teary-eyed for each other, as we know that hope is lost.
We have placed ourselves here.
The strength of our convictions has withered and died, just as we now are withering and dying. There is no escape. The inevitable is towering over us, hanging like the blade of a guillotine. And the fault is our own.
Darling, if you’d like to inspire me, give me something of substance. Don’t spit out a regurgitated quotation from your favorite something-or-other. Sculpt your own words into something meaningful.
Art is a constant reminder that it is never what you see, but how you see it. Not what you create, but how you crate it. There is no destination. Just the journey.
There sits a mirror
On her dresser,
Old and wooden.
It is carved.
There are roses all around it.
And it echoes the lenses of her eyes.
There are bruises on her face from
The quiet of the nighttime.
And she watches as they swell
Over time
She is slowly being dragged away.
And there is something so intriguing in
The lines that connect the dots
Joint to joint
And the edges of your limbs
Like skin
Or heartstrings.
Taught, bearing a bit of weight,
They vibrate in rhythm
And the discord turns to music.
Molded out of clay, we come
And unraveling like thread, we are one.
Well, here we are again
In the same place as before.
And I can feel myself again
Dragged away from the shore.
Well, here we go again
Fighting the same old fight.
And I can feel myself again
Fading into night.
But I won’t let you win this time—
I’ll bring you down
In the first round.
Oh, there’s no looking back.
This time
My life
Is mine.
Knowing who you are is overrated. You don’t have to know yourself, you just have to be yourself.
I have crumbled
Like an old brick wall
And my pieces have been scattered across the ground.
I was waiting for someone to rebuild me.
I met a mason
And he came along with new bricks and mortar,
To restore me like new.
But some things couldn’t be replaced.
