Every little thing and all nothings.
The words they tell me
Came lies in my head that I couldn't accept
Believing little things was worthless in me.
The ashes in my soul being one with the winds
Hopes unawakened, recounting months when I was holding on, thriving, and falling back is tiring
Should I still expect everything happily?
All that I am was a reckless pain in my body, headaches of chaotic mind, and the dying beats of heart
So tired, all of these vibrations in my ears, this lost sleepy face, and my voiceless throat.
I watched everything in greyish mood and void I couldn't name
Nothing would change and I couldn't appreciate any seasons or even day in a time
Bring me back to the things that moved me and let me sleep again
When everything is melancholy I couldn't do anything.
When everyone is melancholy I didn't have a clue and I was blindly happy at the random Tuesday hues.
When everywhere was melancholy I was at the deeper sense of my reality.
Every then, there's no bright worlds to someone who expresses melancholy.
Everyday was a melancholy, long lost a time trowned.
Everything melancholy, a cold body.
-spicybcyi
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Secluded to the Messages
RandomA collection of poetry and prose. Secluded to the messages is where it puts one in a place meant to meet and where one gets messaged in its vague manner like the fast paced frequency of a tiny place and a crowd's annoying noise. Date finished: April...
