(no subject)
Feelings of rejection and neglect slowly creep out of my mind once again
They'll be back for another crack at me
I know them well, like lifelong friends
Rejection and neglect like angels on shoulders
Pain and misery like bourne deformities
I wear them like a piece of me
Like body against self,
Revolting against health
Like setting desire on out-of-reach apathetic shelf
This is my life
It feels foreign to me
Refreshing of memories comes only when I bleed
Recollection working in negatives
Like hurt, scorn lover
Like chemical to brain, severed
Like honor and nobility undiscovered
My lethargy fulfills it purpose as I'm swept along life's tides. Spiraling and bubbling in kaleidoscope whirlpools; caught in apathetic currents. It is inevitable that I will get caught in the undertow again. Vicious cycle of survival and temptation. Should I live in dread of this fact or celebrate these moments of un-panicked air--these instances where I'm not gasping for breath? My lungs are numb.
I feel unheard. I feel like no one wants to hear. But who am I to say? What makes what I have to say worth hearing? Understanding of social nuances escapes me sometimes. Sometimes I wish I knew how to be silent. I wish silence was my friend and not some kind of feral creature stalking in the bushes.
They'll be back for another crack at me
I know them well, like lifelong friends
Rejection and neglect like angels on shoulders
Pain and misery like bourne deformities
I wear them like a piece of me
Like body against self,
Revolting against health
Like setting desire on out-of-reach apathetic shelf
This is my life
It feels foreign to me
Refreshing of memories comes only when I bleed
Recollection working in negatives
Like hurt, scorn lover
Like chemical to brain, severed
Like honor and nobility undiscovered
My lethargy fulfills it purpose as I'm swept along life's tides. Spiraling and bubbling in kaleidoscope whirlpools; caught in apathetic currents. It is inevitable that I will get caught in the undertow again. Vicious cycle of survival and temptation. Should I live in dread of this fact or celebrate these moments of un-panicked air--these instances where I'm not gasping for breath? My lungs are numb.
I feel unheard. I feel like no one wants to hear. But who am I to say? What makes what I have to say worth hearing? Understanding of social nuances escapes me sometimes. Sometimes I wish I knew how to be silent. I wish silence was my friend and not some kind of feral creature stalking in the bushes.