Wilted Words

I feel this sadness like a lump in my throat. Like a veil draped over my head, covering my face, not letting me see anything good. Some times I find the willpower to fight it. Most days I don't. It is too much it is too much it is too much. There is no way my body can handle it or kick it out of my system. This sadness is a parasite, it managed to camouflage itself past my immune system, rendering me defenseless against it. I can feel it in my heart, the poisoned Ivy latched on it, attached to my veins and arteries. I am becoming it. I tried resisting it, but I wasn't aware of my weakness until I came across it. At first I thought it was better than the numbness, I thought this was proof that I am still capable of feeling something. Little did I know the magnitude of these tsunamis, little did I care back then. But now I pray every night for it to leave me. I want to be normal, I want to feel normal. What do normal people when they have an excess of emotions, of deep co...

I am at the front door holding the key of the apartment in my hand. I can feel the cold metal pressed against my skin. If I unlock this door I'll be home. Alone. Again. My hand is trembling, it is shaking.... Inside this place every inch is familiar, every corner is memorized, every thing is still and dull and lonesome. Even my guests room is disappointed with the lack of company. If I get inside I will be alone. Again. With no one but my self up against all my poisonous thoughts. The fire squad. Every thought is bullet. A bullet that doesn't necessarily hit me but it definitely deafens me and I don't get a chance to recover from the chaos to be shoot at with another bullet again. Sometimes they do hit me and I just watch myself bleed and I wish if I die then but I don't. In the safety of darkness, they creep up on my skin, the false sense of safety keeps me occupied. I am safe. I am alone and I am safe. But I am not. I know I am not. Theses thoughts don't p...