I cannot help but wonder what she has that I do not.
It rips me in two.
I hate that I know her name, I only asked so the I could get used to the bitter taste which fills my mouth. I hate that you smile when you think about her, and started to babble about her. That was once me who brought such unrequited joy to your lips.
Now I’m nothing but sorrow.
Losing.
Its within moments like these where I want to give up on all the progress I have made in life and buy a pack of cigarettes and suck down every last bit of nicotine. Quitting wasn’t even that difficult for me, hell I could say that I wasn’t even addicted but there is something incredibly satisfying about the feeling of choosing some mildly socially acceptable form of self-destruction. It’s as if I have some over romanticized ideal for my life that I have not come to yet, but somehow sub consciously exists and causes chaos with my life and I need to fix what is not yet broken.
As much as he may think he has feelings for someone else I must remind myself he loves me.
Its a twisted and dark path with no real outlet. I cannot be with, nor can I be without. I am trapped in a world of senseless abyss.
Saltly Soul.
A sleepless weight fills me as the small hours of the morning grow into ones of more significance. I know I should be attempting to fill my body with some sort of rest but I would rather torture myself with thoughts of the person I have grown to be. I was once someone to fall in love with, as to now where I make sense of the pieces which I have become in hopes to attract some sort of buzz. Alas I am no longer a sweet and soothing nectar, but a vinegar which urges feelings of remorse and abrasiveness.
To my followers:
I am working on selecting pieces for my university’s literary magazine. I would very much appreciate any sort of insight from you all. Care to help a young writer out?
Weakness.
She told herself she would wash her hands of him. That she would let him become washed away with the tide. He could fall into someone else’s arms, for it appeared they would both be happier there. She promised herself she would learn to love herself and she did not need him, for need was a sign of weak.
She was not weak.
The weak girls cried to their friends, she would not succumb to their level. She would use him as her tool, any emotion he evoked would create a product, maybe not positive, but it would be something. She refused to feel heartbreak for nothing, for heartbreak was for the weak.
She was not weak.
Lost.
Silence fills lungs
clawing into the free space
ripping away at stability
Buildings collapse
The world spins faster
Apocalyptic Vertigo
Shame slaps the face.
Abusive.
Abrasive.
Iron fills the mouth
a putrid taste.
Whispers of white lies
which cover the skin.
Running in circles
running back again.
I collapse.
Wrapped.
Forever in arms
emphatically loving me
I want to belong
No Slumber.
Rough fingers collide
tongues speak in sign language
For it is just us
Elements of.
It’s a funny thing what drugs can do to you.
They can rip apart your soul.
Expose you, to the elements of a
false reality.
Where things seem nice, as if they were
some sick escape of the sorts.
Places become more brilliant.
People become more beautiful.
Everything becomes brighter.
The world is upside down,
intertwined with something which
cannot be described by simple
words.
It is something of the smells of Christmas,
and the feelings of warmth, mixed with
accomplishment and a linger scent of
disaster.
For all love ends in disaster.
