I can't sleep. I can't sleep. I can't sleep.
It's probably all the colorful little concerns flashing in front of my eyes
as soon as I close them.
Is there something to this world but words?
I'm drowning in the carbon dioxide that I exhale.
I'm killing myself by living.
You'll never know why I live this way.
Day. By. Day.
Is there something to this world but words?
The words you say, or I hear. That I write, and you read.
I could easily steal... pluck them from any bit of literature I find fits.
Plagiarise.
I didn't, but I could have. I'm just saying.
Doesn't it make you wonder? Dissect the anatomy of ideas and.
Just wonder.
Words are. Powerful.
Ugly. Weak.
The two edged sword of life.
Why doesn't anyone else have to breathe to breathe to breathe
just to exhale. It feels a lot like.
well.
Would you even care if I told you.
I'm not done here. I just want you to know.
I'm thinking about you, when I'm crying about me.
Even when we're laughing together and my hair is out of place and you say it.
And for just a second we put on our masks and we convince
even ourselves.
That every heart beat of life, isn't just digging us deeper.
I need, deeply
to hide.
Will I drown?
is this really how it's supposed to be.
By the way. I love you more.
So much more
than you'll ever know.
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ReplyDeleteI hope you've found another way to avoid the destruction from our realities. If you see this, you should write again, if you're not doing it with pen to paper.
ReplyDelete