Bottleneck.
She wears cloths two sizes bigger.
and only sings in the shower.
She has love greater than anyone can ever handle,
a love that no one wants.
I am stronger than this, I'm better off this way.
She plays these words inside her head like a broken record, like a hymn.
She tries her best to keep her chin up, to keep whatever is left of her heart, whatever is left from her mind.
Still, there is no avoiding the long nights, or the cold coming from within,
She carries it around like her own aura, embarrِassed of her failures, of her choices or mistakes.
She thought that it's was avoidable.
But as she lies in her bed, darkness surrounding her,
as storms rage inside her brain, and wars wage in her heart,
she realizes that she can't take it anymore.
She lies down like a corpse, the only proof of her existence is the monotonic repeated process of breathing which, as effortless as it is, seems the hardest thing in the world right then.
She doesn't feel anything at all, then she feels it all at once, like facing a firing squad.
the absence of light, she can't quite tell in the darkness, if it is seeping from the outside, or radiating from her, but she knows, she feels it making a path out of her veins, and a throne of her heart. She feels the absence of love, the lack of faith in people, in herself.
She stares at her walls, dumbstruck, not minding the frequent eruptions of pain and guilt and loneliness, she feels her blood turning into lava crawling in her veins and arteries, burning her.
and with a sharp intake of breath she realizes that it's her, it's all her.
Her choices lead her to this stage of loss and regret.
with steady hands, she grabs a razor, and draws an elaborate line on her wrist.
she finds condolences in the dripping of blood.
I deserve this.
she says to herself as she cuts another line. hoping that subconsciously she will cut deeper than she should and end this.
she cuts and cuts and cuts, at least there is a sense of comforting formality in this pain, she's accustomed to it now.
it hurts less,
less than the lies, less than the guilt that follows her around like her shadow.
this pain gets her eyes to well with tears, maybe these tears will fall and wash away some of this cocktail of toxic feelings.
Maybe these tears are the holy water that will get rid of her demons.
Maybe she can move on, maybe she can learn how to love herself.
She bandages her wrists, goes back to her room, covers herself up, she shivers as she feels the chill of coldness moving up her spine.
it would've been easier if she stopped looking around for sunshine, if she poured her heart out on people, or gave away pieces of her mind to them.
Shes not sure of anything at times like these.
But she wakes up the next morning, as the sunlight floods her room, and birds twittering,
in these small moments, she finds her purpose, she feels her heart mending, and her soul healing.
she feels like she can finally forgive herself, and move on.
and only sings in the shower.
She has love greater than anyone can ever handle,
a love that no one wants.
I am stronger than this, I'm better off this way.
She plays these words inside her head like a broken record, like a hymn.
She tries her best to keep her chin up, to keep whatever is left of her heart, whatever is left from her mind.
Still, there is no avoiding the long nights, or the cold coming from within,
She carries it around like her own aura, embarrِassed of her failures, of her choices or mistakes.
She thought that it's was avoidable.
But as she lies in her bed, darkness surrounding her,
as storms rage inside her brain, and wars wage in her heart,
she realizes that she can't take it anymore.
She lies down like a corpse, the only proof of her existence is the monotonic repeated process of breathing which, as effortless as it is, seems the hardest thing in the world right then.
She doesn't feel anything at all, then she feels it all at once, like facing a firing squad.
the absence of light, she can't quite tell in the darkness, if it is seeping from the outside, or radiating from her, but she knows, she feels it making a path out of her veins, and a throne of her heart. She feels the absence of love, the lack of faith in people, in herself.
She stares at her walls, dumbstruck, not minding the frequent eruptions of pain and guilt and loneliness, she feels her blood turning into lava crawling in her veins and arteries, burning her.
and with a sharp intake of breath she realizes that it's her, it's all her.
Her choices lead her to this stage of loss and regret.
with steady hands, she grabs a razor, and draws an elaborate line on her wrist.
she finds condolences in the dripping of blood.
I deserve this.
she says to herself as she cuts another line. hoping that subconsciously she will cut deeper than she should and end this.
she cuts and cuts and cuts, at least there is a sense of comforting formality in this pain, she's accustomed to it now.
it hurts less,
less than the lies, less than the guilt that follows her around like her shadow.
this pain gets her eyes to well with tears, maybe these tears will fall and wash away some of this cocktail of toxic feelings.
Maybe these tears are the holy water that will get rid of her demons.
Maybe she can move on, maybe she can learn how to love herself.
She bandages her wrists, goes back to her room, covers herself up, she shivers as she feels the chill of coldness moving up her spine.
it would've been easier if she stopped looking around for sunshine, if she poured her heart out on people, or gave away pieces of her mind to them.
Shes not sure of anything at times like these.
But she wakes up the next morning, as the sunlight floods her room, and birds twittering,
in these small moments, she finds her purpose, she feels her heart mending, and her soul healing.
she feels like she can finally forgive herself, and move on.
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