Things aren't encapsulated or engulfed by flames, or melting to their base particles.
They aren't deteriorating or crumbling either.
Things are much more like the loneliness you feel on cold pillows. Silence in empty rooms.
The conversations that you aren't included in.
They are the pessimism that has formed upon your conciousness, the thought that everything will leave you with a sour taste in your mouth.
They are the staggering amounts of stress. The family circumstances, the type that make you worry if everything will be okay.
Those are the things that make me feel comfortable, make me feel at home.
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The Beauty in Restlessness
PoesíaThese are the words within my mind that keep me up at night. Pieces of work that I wrote for my own comfort. However, if you relate, enjoy. Pick apart my work to find your own meanings. Do not search for meanings that are not your own. Find what my...
