Are you aware that affection can also rot away?
All things - body, heart, and the soul, and everything within - can rot.
Especially dead stuff.
Friday, December 29, 2017
Thursday, December 28, 2017
Prisoner
Do you know what captivity feels like?
There's a line between place and part - which is to say they're two different constructs. To me, it's a very distinct line. But I wonder if it actually is?
I've been wallowing in extreme self-doubt recently. It's been quite some time now. I've discovered that people around me see, hear and feel the world very differently - it's a stark contrast, almost. My perspective appears to be illusory to me.
Between my mental health issues and my real-life problems, I cannot tell which is which anymore. My mental issues create real-life problems and my problems feed my mental instability. It's a vicious self-feeding loop.
Sometimes I sit myself down to understand the mechanics behind my current state of affairs. I think about a wounded man, with spears sticking into him - all of him. The small spaces of bloody flesh left in between the spearheads have shards of glass sticking into them. Not a single un-pierced inch left. You see him there, lying in the pool of his own blood. How do you help him? How do you touch him? Without pushing those blades further inside him.
May be you just let him lie there, and die slowly, and painfully. May be you just put him out.
I don't know. I am not the bystander.
There's a line between place and part - which is to say they're two different constructs. To me, it's a very distinct line. But I wonder if it actually is?
I've been wallowing in extreme self-doubt recently. It's been quite some time now. I've discovered that people around me see, hear and feel the world very differently - it's a stark contrast, almost. My perspective appears to be illusory to me.
Between my mental health issues and my real-life problems, I cannot tell which is which anymore. My mental issues create real-life problems and my problems feed my mental instability. It's a vicious self-feeding loop.
Sometimes I sit myself down to understand the mechanics behind my current state of affairs. I think about a wounded man, with spears sticking into him - all of him. The small spaces of bloody flesh left in between the spearheads have shards of glass sticking into them. Not a single un-pierced inch left. You see him there, lying in the pool of his own blood. How do you help him? How do you touch him? Without pushing those blades further inside him.
May be you just let him lie there, and die slowly, and painfully. May be you just put him out.
I don't know. I am not the bystander.
Friday, December 15, 2017
Bokeh
There are moments in a day when I eagerly want to just die. At times it seems to be the only way to jolt people around me up to stop taking me for granted. And the most sinister-ly apt too. Because death leaves the living with no second chances. Only regrets.
I feel hurt. So broken, that the pieces of my wreck collide with each other to cause more agony.
And there's nobody to ease it away.
I am aching in places I didn't know existed.
The pain is excruciating. It's obliterating my soul.
I sit in the pool of my own blood, still - but not dead.
I try, but I am unable to help myself. My bleeding body lies in a dump in a dark alley, and I scream for help in a voice so meek that even I cannot hear myself.
The few passers-by that crossed me could but lend me looks of disgust and disapproval.
I feel a streak of warm liquid streak out of my eyes blurring my sight. The lights at end of the alley blob up into a pretty bokeh.
It hurts so much.
I cannot hold the weight of my eyelids anymore, they collapse on me.
The last thought as darkness envelopes me - I'll never be good enough... no matter wh
I feel hurt. So broken, that the pieces of my wreck collide with each other to cause more agony.
And there's nobody to ease it away.
I am aching in places I didn't know existed.
The pain is excruciating. It's obliterating my soul.
I sit in the pool of my own blood, still - but not dead.
I try, but I am unable to help myself. My bleeding body lies in a dump in a dark alley, and I scream for help in a voice so meek that even I cannot hear myself.
The few passers-by that crossed me could but lend me looks of disgust and disapproval.
I feel a streak of warm liquid streak out of my eyes blurring my sight. The lights at end of the alley blob up into a pretty bokeh.
It hurts so much.
I cannot hold the weight of my eyelids anymore, they collapse on me.
The last thought as darkness envelopes me - I'll never be good enough... no matter wh