(no subject)
I feel weary. My bones, my skin, my soul, my everything. I feel terrified that I am being consumed and I don't know what will happen when there is nothing left to drain. Am I a empty husk, left to be thrown into the fire when the last of me is broken? I don't know.
I am tired.
The anger, the hurt, the passion, the loneliness, the fear, the anger, the past, the present, future. It all collides inside, it tears me down and leaves me with nothing. It take and takes and takes, and what do I have left to give? I have nothing. I am lonely and I have nothing.
It's all in there, swirling, fermenting, poisoning. I can't cry it out, I can't scream, and if I could, who would hear me? Where is my solace?
Oh, my passion...
I am tired.
The anger, the hurt, the passion, the loneliness, the fear, the anger, the past, the present, future. It all collides inside, it tears me down and leaves me with nothing. It take and takes and takes, and what do I have left to give? I have nothing. I am lonely and I have nothing.
It's all in there, swirling, fermenting, poisoning. I can't cry it out, I can't scream, and if I could, who would hear me? Where is my solace?
Oh, my passion...