Am An Empty Lot Anything Can Fill Yet, Am So Full Of Nothingness For Something To Fit In. Am In A State
Am an empty lot anything can fill yet, am so full of nothingness for something to fit in. Am in a state of despondency that nobody can revive my forlornness, am greatly agitated with myself, thus get scared for you my love when you say that you love me.
art by @kmcvisuals
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Eventually, I am getting old, old but fine, like gold. If you'd asked me, five years ago, I wouldn’t have predicted patches of happiness even for a day in my life. But here I am, getting old— and loving it, to the moon.
a happy birthday to me on this 10th
This is the 11th day of
waiting.
seated in the same spot
grindling my hands
to type
and
what gets out is
ddddhhhhdhdjdhdhddhkjsdhjdsh.
Whatever part of the
brain that platitudinized me to write
is dead now.
It made me fall in love,
and now—kaput—it's gone.
Uuuuh what a devoid day !
I am dissolving
into a desolate form.
There’s nothing to be pressured about.
The chance of dying without ever tasting what you crave is real, and alive, breathing down your neck.
And no amount of pressure will ever change that.
And they blamed God for the atrocities they inflicted on themselves, human to human.
They asked why He looked on as they dismantled each other.
They couldn't even use right the thing they bragged about: free will.
"God, intervene" - their excuses are their acceptances that they can't be without You.
The heart goes cold. The heart grows old. The repetition of moments be it trembling or joyous. The heart loses it all in the end.
Together, I am isolated. Alone, I bloom.
Rebel against something today. Not to feel cheesy, but maybe , just maybe , it’ll be the beginning of something you.
And no, this isn’t motivation. This is a battle note.
But it’s been hard to let them know that all I need now is not Lethargy, or Trazodone, or Sertraline.
I need a heart that can beat when mine is trembling, a face that can smile when mine is sad-locked, and a person who can accept that I am in a dangerous mood.
But do we stop, halt and realize that we are indeed still breathing?
Because no matter the emotions
or
notions of what we intend to do or become,
the mere fact that we are breathing is a salient one.
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