Easy. Nothing is ever easy for Connor, and nothing will ever be. Easy is wrong. Or so it seems. And so, Connor continues to live his life the way he is used to do it. He goes about his usual routines. He goes to counseling twice a week. He goes to work every day. He takes his medication daily at the same time. He arranges his food by colour, and his socks too. He counts steps from one distance to the next, and he counts the minutes until Thomas will be back sitting on his couch. As much as his head wants to deny it, his heart knows that Thomas is the only one he will ever let in. Thomas is the only one who makes him feel safe when he is breaching his personal space. He doesn’t need to feel embarrassed or ashamed in front of Thomas. Never. Because Thomas always seems to understand.
Something clicked recently. And the realisation that they fit profoundly is etched into Connor’s mind now. And this makes Connor’s thoughts a little less dark and a little lighter. It is a phase and he knows it. But he also knows that he needs to savour it. He needs to savour it or it will be over too soon. Right now, Connor’s mind is light as a feather. Soon it will be dark as a cloud again, but he chooses not to think about it. Running on his treadmill, his black curls bounce up and down with every step he makes. His blue eyes are focused on the filing of his music collection, and in his mind he is counting. He is counting the steps he makes. He is counting his heartbeats. He is making the moment count. Connor runs and runs, but it doesn’t feel like running away for once. It is just exercise. Nothing more. Just exhausting his mind and his body. Easy. He slows down, rubbing his face with his towel, catching his breath. He feels a presence before he sees it. It makes him smile.
“What’s that?” Thomas enters Connor’s fitness room. He has leaned against the door jamb watching the shirtless young man. If he weren’t as tormented. If things were just a little easier. But they aren’t, and he learned to take what Connor is offering.
“Thirty-thousand-two-hundred-seventy-eight seconds since you last touched me.”
Thomas gulps. “You counted?”
Connor smiles. “No, I am not that mental. I did the maths,” he chuckles and reaches for a shirt that is folded in a neat square. Thomas puts his hand over Connor’s. “You are having a good day today.” Connor just nods at Thomas’s statement.
“I am a bird today. Not a cloud,” Connor mumbles. But Thomas understands. He most often does. Living a life between clouds and feathers can be a challenge for Connor and for everyone around him. But today, Connor isn’t afraid. And Thomas isn’t either, because today Connor is a feather and that is all that matters.
Every silence makes Connor aware of the screams building up inside of him. Every moment of numbness reminds him of the many moments of overflowing emotions he experiences on a daily basis. He isn’t leading a life that fits the norm. He can’t. Everything needs to be in a certain order. Filed by colours, or numbers, or memories. No one knows what triggers him. Least of all he himself. Life could be so easy. It really could be. But not for Connor. Few people try to understand Connor and his special needs. Thomas is one of the few. But Thomas himself is not an easy characters. Connor once knew how to handle the man who is currently sitting on his couch. But things happened; life happened, and what little trust that had built between these two was destroyed in the blink of an eye after too many fights. Both men can’t say what happened or when they fell out of love. The fights just got too many to ignore. And the words that were spoken in anger left deep wounds that didn’t heal. As it was, Thomas never gave up on Connor. He tried to let him go, but too many sleepless nights were spent thinking about the man who once owned his heart. In the meantime, Thomas had a girlfriend, but it wasn’t the same. He was not able to give her what Connor had gotten so willingly. After Connor had gone, there had been a void in his life no one could replace. The many routines Connor has and which have driven Thomas mad, were now missing from his life. And Connor; his heart has been bruised, and he recoiled into his own little impenetrable shell. The end of their relationship has been a huge failure for him personally. In his mind, his malfunctioning brain is to blame. It isn’t, Connor knows it rationally, but emotions rule his thinking. Thomas is still silent, sitting on the couch, flipping through the channels on the TV. He doesn’t say a word. It is unsettling. If he just said something. If he just insulted him for what had happened earlier. But no. Silence. Silence is louder than the loudest scream. Uncomfortable.
“Say something,” Connor dares to say at last.
“We should order some food,” Thomas replies. His eyes never leaving the silver screen.
“That is not what I meant, and you know that I can’t order takeout. I can’t eat the food someone else touched.” Connor looks at his naked feet. They feel good when he rubs them on the carpet.
“I am hungry. I am going to order some pizza.”
“Here?” Connor needs Thomas to say yes. He cannot be left on his own. But he also dreads the answer. He cannot have Thomas in his sanctuary. He will disrupt his routines, and he will take space Connor needs for himself.
“Of course. Don’t think that I will leave this place anytime soon after your little stunt.” Thomas sits up straight. Muting the TV, he looks at Connor. He knows better than to try and make eye contact.
“We are not a couple and you are here uninvited.” Connor tries to make a point, but it is as weak as it sounds, and he knows Thomas well enough to know that he won’t leave.
“I don’t give a flying fuck about whether I am invited to be here or not. I will not leave until I know that you are okay.”
“I didn’t mean to kill myself…”
“… And yet you tried,” Thomas cuts Connor off.
“Pizza, I am starving. I’ll sleep on the couch. And now, shut up I want to see this.” Thomas takes his phone out of his pocket and orders food, before he turns his focus back on the TV. “It is okay, you know. Just sit here with me for a while. The world can wait.”
Connor doubts the truth of those words, but somehow, he is willing to find out. Something is different. Something feels weird. He sits next to Thomas on the couch and without over-thinking it, he leans into the other man. He is comfortable feeling Thomas’s heat through their shirts. Safe. The thought scares him. He is too far out of his comfort zone to enjoy it. He is too exhausted to be able to find a way to make this easier for him.
If someone touched or hugged me right this moment, I would turn into a heap of tears and cells. I would implode and burn from within until only dust and scattered thoughts would be left.
A new day, but the same old compulsive behavior leads Connor’s routines. The book Thomas brought back is still lying on the coffee table. It is still in the same plastic bag. Still at a perfect angle with the table. Connor starts laundry and cleans his small living space before he takes a shower that is meticulously timed. And then, it happens. Out of the blue, Connor feels paralyzed. There is no way back and no way forth. He is frozen in motion. Numb in his mind. Nothing is askew. Everything is alright. Everything but Connor. For the first time, he realizes that there is a world in front of his door that can’t be filed and organized and that is okay. There are people who don’t need him, no matter how much he wants it to need him. His students don’t need him. This life doesn’t need him. This world doesn’t need him. Connor hasn’t thought about self-harm and suicide in a long while. Now he does, and the thoughts scar him. They are liberating too. What if this numbness is okay? What if the world doesn’t stop if he is not there? And he will not know anyway, will he? Connor’s book is still on the coffee table. Thomas’s text is still unanswered. Cars are still honking outside, and the clouds are still heavy with rain. Connor decides to call in sick and go with the flow. Whatever happens, will happen. If it happens to be music, he will play music. If he is inspired to write, he will write. If he needs more sleep, he will sleep. And if he decides not to wake up, then that is okay too.
He begins listening to music:
and finds his red pen to write:
The world doesn’t end without me. Remember me with a smile.
Connor opens a bottle of pills and runs a bath. It doesn’t matter that he just had a shower. Nothing matters. A bottle of water. He turns the bottle so that the label is pointing to the ceiling when he puts it to his lips. The pills have a bitter taste, and he scrunches his nose. But it is okay. He has a goal in his mind. He will take a bath – oh the cliché, and he will become unconscious. He will fall asleep and never wake up. His plan seems safe. But Connor is a thinker. And he knows that he will die of asphyxiation. It will be agony and not romantic at all. His bed isn’t made, and he hasn’t changed the sheets on his bed in two days. There is dust on the mantelpiece and crumbs on the table. Too many things are left undone. Too many things. But he took the pills, and the water is filling the tub.
If I died, would I be worth saving?
Connor pushes send and climbs into the tub. Wearing his clothes. And shoes. Nothing will ever be the same again.
A/N: parts of this chapter came about after reading this blogpost: https://dtwalsh83.wixsite.com/fourcorneredroom/blog/fcr008-a-careworn-heart It made the words easier to flow)
On the treadmill. The rhythmic thump of his feet provides more peace of mind for Connor. Sweat is running down his body in rivulets and is caught in the fibers of his workout clothes. Running. Nothing but running. His eyes are glued to his record collection. It is organized by alphabet. It is time to organize it by color of the cover. Although, it becomes harder to find what you are looking for that way. Maybe organizing it by year of release? But then there is the dilemma with re-releases. Connor keeps running and thinking. Until he stops thinking and just runs. It is as if his body knows exactly what to do and for once, his brain isn’t needed. A euphoric bliss settles like a calming veil over Connor’s heart. Forgotten – or repressed, are today’s events. He slows down and blinks hard a couple of times. He grabs his towel and wipes his face twice before he finally comes to a complete halt. Connor is conscious of every muscle in his body. He hears the blood pumping through his veins, carrying oxygen to every organ. But he feels good. Elated. Positively exhausted.
Breathe in. The sign on the floor in his bedroom reads. Connor obeys and undresses. He folds his clothes and puts them in a hamper. Breathe out; says the sign on the bathroom floor. Again he obeys before he gets in the shower stall. The water rains down on his neck, and he moans. This is relaxing, even more so after his excessive workout. Connor stands motionless until the water begins to turn cold. He washes himself and turns off the tap.
As soon as he is dressed, his mind starts racing again. His internal battle over events he cannot change continues until it is interrupted by a knock at the door. Another knock. Yet another knock, followed by words. “I’m sorry Connor. Don’t open the door, but I brought your book. I cleaned it and put it in a plastic bag. Putting it on the doormat is safe. Really, I am sorry. It was good to see you. You look amazing. Anyway. I’ll leave. I’ll text you later. Goodbye, Connor.” Connor listened to Thomas’s words with his ear pressed against the door that was separating them. Thomas understands Connor’s need for certain things to happen in a certain way. Thomas knows Connor. Too well.
The moment Connor hears the retreating footsteps, he opens the door. Thomas hasn’t lied. The book is in a clear plastic bag. On the doormat. Connor picks it up, and looks left and right, up and down the hallway. No one is there. “Thank you,” he whispers. Connor puts the book on the coffee table and stares at it suspiciously. Nothing happens. He runs a hand through his hair, a new battle taking place in his head. What if he texted Thomas first? He pretends that he deleted the number. And it’s true, he did. But, there are the call logs. And although there is no name with the number anymore, Connor knows exactly whose it is. Quickly, as if the letters are burning his fingers, and the words on the screen are poison for his eyes, he types “Thank you, Thomas”. He turns off the messaging app, mutes the phone and puts it – display facing down – next to the book. His leg begins bouncing up and down. His thumb finds a way to his mouth where his teeth gnaw at the skin and the nail. Off-kilter. This day needs to end.
Thirty-two steps up to his apartment. Turning the key in the lock twice. Calming shaking hands and racing thoughts. Connor enters his sanctuary and pulls his boots off his feet. He puts them where they belong, in their spot by the door. Connor begins touching each finger on his hand with his thumb. Forward and backward. Forward and backward again. Until he feels that he calmed down enough to function again. Yes, that helped. Oh, the embarrassment of having been hit by a ball in the face in public, and falling off a bench like some lunatic who can’t sit upright on his own. The humiliation of seeing Thomas again in this situation. Connor often fantasizes about seeing his ex-lover again. But never in his wildest fantasies has he thought that he would look this weak. In his imagination, he faced Thomas as a made man. In a fancy suit and with his act together. And it is still Connor’s determination to become rich and famous, but he is not there yet. Thomas on the other hand – he looked just as handsome (and evil) as he has always looked. As if the events of the past have not left any dents on his soul and scratches in his mind. The world is a weird place to exist. There is a painting on Connor’s wall. Birds in the sky. Light as a feather, heavy as a cloud. These explosions of emotions leave him drained of energy. And he left his book behind. There is no way to distract himself. There is no way to stop repeating the events in his head. And he can’t start to read a new book. He hasn’t finished the other one. Connor’s face is throbbing and swelling on one side. He wishes that he could cry. But he can’t. There are no tears left in him. They were all cried for someone else. No more tears for himself.
Connor is a young man whose locks look best kissed by a storm. The messy mop of dark hair frames a pale face whose highlights are the eyes. His eyes are like ravens in a blue summer’s sky. Girls like his appearance, but not his eccentric mind. Connor is in good shape. It comes from running all the time. But no matter how far he runs, he can never escape his past. Or his thoughts. Or the cloud that travels above his head. Boys like his appearance, but not his weirdness. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t find a way to fit in with his peers. And so, he spends most of his days in his own company. The silence is loud enough to make him feel less lonely. The silence is loud enough to let him lose his mind. He looks at the clouds in the sky. Not for the first time, he wishes to be as light as a raven to leave his place on earth. At night, Connor dreams of flying away, leaving everything behind. At night, Connor’s mind is free. Lost. Never to be found again.
Silver slivers of an other world
Golden echoes of a past long gone
It is as if the warming summer rain never ceased to coat our skins
It is as if the most important part of you lives inside my pulsing veins
Gray clouds repeating your whispered word
White lies, hidden in a new song
It is as if your home is in my mind
But my mind is lost and home is hard to find
Iridescent pictures of the end of an affair
I vividly remember the way you used to ask “Are you there?”
Silver slivers, fragments of our story
Golden echoes, mirror of a promise I intend to keep
Where do I start? This year has been the best and the worst in a long while. But how and why? Well… On the outside, everything went really well. In February, I started the best job I could ever wish for. I am very happy there. I celebrated my tenth wedding anniversary with my husband in August. We built a house together and moved the family into said house last weekend. I reconciled with family members who were mere distant memories. I got a raise at work and a trainee, despite the few hours I work. (26 instead of 40). My kids are doing more or less well. Financially, everything seems to work out too. We are not rich, but we can afford to take the kids to the movies and to the restaurant once in a while. I had to get a new car in April. It drives me from a to b, but it’s not my favourite…
On the outside, everything is looking up.
The inside though, my internal life is a mess. I suffered from a sever bout of depression this year. Worse than ever before, and for the first time, I asked for help. I couldn’t go on the way I was. Asking for help felt like failing, but it also felt like being in control of my damned emotions again. My behaviour was toxic. I cut my skin and pretended that I was marking myself to remember things. I was in complete denial of my own needs and suffered willingly for someone else’s good. For a while, I took meds – I am not taking them right now, and they helped, but I also know that I need to get on without the chemical help. I was overwhelmed with the fast success and I felt inapt and unprepared. For everything. Stepping out of one’s comfort zone is a scary thing. Emotionally, this year was very draining. From dealing with the past and worrying about the future, to coping with the present. I tend to assume and overthink. I often suppose and project, instead of knowing, and that’s what gets me every time. Add people to the mix who are sending mixed signals and are slipping through my fingers when all I want is to keep them close – let’s just say that it was the “coup de grâce”. The cherry on top.
My low self-esteem and the fact that I seldom allow myself to praise myself or be proud of an achievement makes life even harder for me. As it did this year. I guess, my ups and downs are palpable in my writing and in my poetry. Mostly the downs though, because I don’t need to write as much when I am okay. (Or even in a manic phase.) I scare people away with my moods. I am quite overwhelming at times.
I also made friends and lost friends this year. Acquaintances became friends. Daily parts of my life. I was mentioned in the acknowledgements of two different books and a song was written with me in mind. I saw some live music, not a lot, and I bought some of music, I always do – nothing new.
My favourite books this year were “You” and its sequel “Hidden Bodies” by Caroline Kepnes.
My favourite movie was “Paris 05:59 Théo & Hugo”.
My favourite musical release? I couldn’t tell. I simply don’t know since I didn’t listen to all that much different music this year. Though, Spotify lists the following as my most listened artists this year:
- Pearl Jam
- New Order
- Kate Bush
- Tadgh Daly
- Lone Wolf
- Fabrizio Paterlini
I read a lot and I wrote a lot, but I couldn’t reach the 400 poems I wrote last year. But I also drank and smoked too much, lol. Again, self-destructive behaviour is one of my patterns.
I loved a lot, and hated very few things, and no people. I stood up for myself and cowered behind bad excuses at times too. I cried more tears than I shed the entire decade before. I felt anxiety and excitement…
And at the end of it all, I am daring to let go of an idea that has been planted in my mind for too long now. I kept holding on for the wrong reasons and now, my mind and my soul have to reconcile and accept that my heart is saying goodbye. I am letting go.
I had a good year. Intense and emotional, but successful too.
To everyone I accepted in my world and didn’t push away – please stay.
To everyone I accepted in my world and who betrayed me – fuck off.
To everyone I accepted in my world and pushed out – I am sorry, but it had to be this way.
To everyone reading this – thank you.
I know my flaws and my qualities and they help me survive.
Thank you all for your support and friendship, have a happy new year.
(A lighter version of this was shared on Wattpad…)
I stumbled across this poem today while I was looking for something different.
Sometimes, the quality of my own work surprises me. (pleasantly)
I actually missed my blogging anniversary. It’s been 5 years since I write whatever comes to my mind on this site.
In the beginning, I was shy about sharing my poetry and most of my older posts aren’t tagged at all. In the old days, this blog was mostly about music that I liked and I shared YouTube links. But then came the day that I realised that liking music didn’t make me a critic – and I never wanted to be a critic either. So? Why holding on to a concept I didn’t like anymore? I took off almost every music. I also took off most of my personal posts and began sharing my writing.
I am proud of my words. Of my writing voice. Sure, I cannot write a post without a mistake. I cannot write a poem without a mistake. But maybe that’s my signature? Lol…
I am not sure what the future will bring. But I learned that writing is more than just spending some time doing something. Writing helps me to filter my thoughts and put them in order again.
To everyone out there spending time here on this blog, thank you. I appreciate it a lot and I hope you never feel like you just wasted time when you leave my place.
Another sleepless night
And I wonder
Can you hear me in your thoughts
Can you see me in your dreams
Can you taste me on your tongue
Can you feel me on your skin
Can you smell me on your sheets
Do you wonder
During another sleepless night?
Our happy sails.
You are at the top
of my list.
were not ready
Imploded – exploded.
Too many lefts
That were never right
Too much of us
And the light shone too bright.
Now that we are gone
We are existing again
Now that we are apart
We can grow again
Now that this page is written
Our story is complete
Now that our hearts beat out of tune
We need to write new songs.
If I fall
I will rise
If I feel buried
I am actually planted
If I am in the dark
I am facing the light
I am your star
In broad daylight
I am your sun
If I am asleep
You are awake in my dreams
When I am cold
You are my heat.
Fallen angel –
We were caught.
secrets that make my skin tingle
and put a smile on my face.
secrets that make my heart race
and make my stomach churn.
secrets that no one will ever know.
secrets that no one will ever believe.
repeating the words just for my ears
repeating the promise just for your eyes.
secrets that will be our downfall
secrets that make us rise.
You made me your secret.
And secretly, I adore you for that.
(tbt – December 2015)
Please don’t touch the sore spots on my soul. I will bleed you out of my system and I am not ready yet.
Memories for hours.
A piano in tune
A melody for her
We will meet again soon
And the past is a blur.
Pain lets her breathe
After a silent night
She’s in way too deep
Chasing the light.
But the music plays on
And the sand fills a glass
She will walk amongst the stars.
ButMusic… where to begin? It used to be my happy and safe place. That’s what favourite musicians and bands do. They make you feel safe. You see them live – 1-2-3 times, maybe even more. Safe. Always safe. Until you don’t feel comfortable anymore. Until you listen to that voice, you heard so many times whisper in your ears, becoming a distorted and uncomfortable torture. I never thought the day would come when music equals torture. When the soundtrack of your life, of your formative years, becomes the sound of your deepest sorrow.
Now, where did that come from? It comes from a dark place. A place I have been before and where I am headed to again. I was advised to not write and think for a while. I was advised to write it all out and not think for a while. Of course, I am headstrong, and I am doing what I want. What I need. I write and think. That’s what I do.
I thought it was a good idea to take this week off. I thought there would be wounds to nurse. I didn’t know they would feel like this. I don’t like to be ignored, rejected, invisible. But it seems that I am. I know that you see me right now. But that’s not what I mean. When we say that we aren’t seen, we have someone in mind who is supposed to see us. To hear our silent screams. When we reach out, it doesn’t matter who tries to catch us, if it is not the person we want us to catch, we are still falling. And falling. And falling.
The other day Nate Maingard (look him up if you don’t know him, great guy) wrote a blog post titled “The only thing missing in my life is me” and I thought, bloody hell, I know these feelings so much, I am kind of feeling them right now. If everything is perfect, why don’t I feel perfect? Why do I feel like a fraud? Why do I feel as if I am failing at life? Why do I feel as if I don’t belong? Why am I ruining this? Why am I ruining me? And then, I read this tweet:
You’ve made it through every bad day you’ve ever had :]
Please remember that ❤
— Aiden Hatfield (@AidenHatfield) November 22, 2017
And, Aiden is right, you know? He does great work with a clothing brand. He gives half of the proceeds he gets from In Music We Trust to a charity. Mind Charity. They care about mental illness in the UK. An important cause. So yes, he is right. No matter how dark it is and how blind I am… I made it through it all. And even if it looks as if I am not doing anything, I am not giving up.
And as I took a drag of my Luckies, I had to laugh. Out loud. Here I am. In my guest room. On the couch. Music in my ears. A book next to me. My phone close by in case someone wanted to reach me (and what do you know – of course, work calls while I am off…). There is an incense stick burning down… And I am doing what I am doing. I am being hard on myself. On top of that, I only smoke when I am not well, and it is self-sabotage, isn’t it? It’s like I know that it is destroying me and not good for me – and yet, I am doing it. But it is better than cutting my skin. Isn’t it? It’s been two weeks since I last felt the need to carve a memory into my skin. A memory that didn’t happen and that sits at my wrist now as a pink reminder that it didn’t happen. I have regrets, and I don’t have any regrets. There are reasons life happens the way it does. Maybe it wasn’t the right time for that memory to be made just yet.
A memory that was made last week was when I went to a concert of Anathema in Luxembourg. I went on my own. For the first time ever I went to a thing with a big crowd all by myself. It was scary as fuck to be there. At the same time, I was proud of myself for going. I mean, I am 34 and confident enough to take the space I need. I saw a good gig. I enjoyed myself, as much as I could. I stood in the back, between the mixing desk and a pillar. All without a drink. It was a clean experience. For a moment, I felt a complete lack of emotions. Scary for someone as emotional as me, right? I felt disconnected in a way. None of my favourite songs was played, maybe that was a reason too, but who am I to complain? These guys have played 50 shows, 11 in a row. And still, they are performing and doing what they do. And then they played The Beginning and the End – still not my most favourite song (again, who am I to complain about their setlist when a band plays for two hours straight?!), but it was the most amazing that night (for me). And as I left the venue with the crowd, I heard people talk. Some were disappointed and ripped everything apart – from the sound to the energy on stage, to the guitarist smoking without a care (and honestly, who fucking cares about that?! Let him smoke all he wants). Some were on that high you only get when you see the most amazing and brilliant music being played on stage. Me, I felt emotionless. I walked through the cold November rain and sat in my car for a while. I just sat there. And I waited. I can’t say what I was waiting for. But I watched the rain on my front window. I watched cars leaving the parking lot. And I was paralysed. My mind was totally blank. And I began to cry. Another good ten minutes passed before I finally was on my drive back home. I didn’t listen to Anathema then. I listened to Tim Buckley. Couldn’t have chosen anything more different… Goodbye and Hello.
Yes, memories were made that night. None of them was immortalised in a picture. It’s all in my head.
Being is hard. Existing is hard. Breathing feels like suffocating sometimes. It really does. But through it all – I am still there. I trust. I feel. I am. I will never be who I am not. I can only be me.
The cigarettes are smoked, the incense stick burned down. The phone rang twice. And music is still playing. The same music. No torture. No soundtrack of my deepest sorrow now. Just there. Pulling at all the right strings.
Thank you to everyone mentioned above. You matter to me. That’s all for now.
who will put flowers on my grave?
who will be there on my final days?
and when I am gone
when I sang my final song,
who will take flowers to my grave?
In the rain
waiting to be washed away,
like the fading flowers on my grave.
and there I wait
for my ultimate fate
and I see your flowers on my grave.
*inspired by the song Flowers by Antimatter*
The earth stood still, you let go and I fell off. Broken bones and bruised skin. Dented soul. Enormous hole – inside. Rejected. Ignored. I lay in our excretions. Drowning in foul thoughts. No surprises. You pulled back and I am left in our mess. I watch you leave and stop to breathe. Prepared to be gone. To not exist. But I am not dead enough inside. I will live. I splutter and I cough, before I get up. Yes, it hurts, but I will heal. The blood and piss will wash off. But you… you are in me. Tattooed under my skin. Carved into the walls of my skull. I will never get rid of you. Stay where you are, but get out. The earth needs to spin, even when I can’t see through the fog. Even when I am caught in the shadow. The day will come when I will fly. Awake. Forever awake.
Here I stand frozen in motion. A stranger in my own light. In my own right. Unable to say what I shouldn’t think. For once, claiming my rights to really fall apart. I am coming undone at my seams. Crying, mourning my own self. And I am afraid to leave it all behind. But there aren’t many moons (and even less moans) left for me. We all will die, that is for sure. But I need more time. Just a little more. And as I slowly disintegrate from within, I wonder if I let the darkest of my soul take over and allowed it to win. I am too tired to fight. Too exhausted to stay. I just want to live a little while. Oh my heart… Just keep on beating for me.
Inhale through the nose
Exhale through the mouth.
If you look at me, please see me. If you see me for the person that I am, please love me.
If you listen to me, please hear me. If you hear my words, please understand them.
If you want me, don’t hold back. If you don’t hold back, I will be all yours.
This is actually no fiction. This is all me in my most vulnerable state. I am afraid to be invisible, invaluable, used…
Release your grip from my heart
You’re crushing me
Not stopping until I fall apart.
Release your power over me
I’m not a puppet on a string
I can’t find happiness on my knees.
Release me. Release me. Release me.
Set me free.