Here I am.
Everyone is mad at me again.
The world stopped spinning in my eyes again.
I disappeared into emptiness again.
although, it's all a lie.
I'm here, and nothing happened.
not that I care of.
I never cared.
I tried to.
but in the end, I was the only one to care,
It's always like that.
the careless ones care the most.
Careless,
the definition in which it has everything that just doesn't care about things that do them no good.
about trivial things, which will never come up again.
Stress will be just spent on it, recklessly, and carelessly.
That is the other careless when they don't care about their nerves, their inside story, their life.
and I do,
and I did.
I did more than them.
I did more than they knew I did.
knowing everything will harm,
and will do good,
will be the way out,
but also be the trap.
will be the start,
And will be the end.
"no one cares until you cry,
smile and they will'
and if knowing everything would make us human, intelligent human,
are we ever going to be human,
again?
YOU ARE READING
The lost art of Words.
Poetry"But none of these options were in my story, A story which dried up my heart from hope" What does it take to live with a vision full of words. what is it like to be knotted up in your own dreams? POETRY ALERT!!
