Forbidden.
That's how it feels to breathe.
Every breathe I take, every step, and every word that erupts from my drying throat feels as if it was a lie.
Forgotten.
That's how it feels to live.
Every smile, every chuckle, and every joke I tell feels like nonexistent humor.
Illegal.
It feels illegal to have any sort of emotions.
Every spark of happiness, every exotic encounter, and every bit of excitement becomes nothing but droplets of tears decaying it's spark.
I've yearned to see the light, but I've gotten so used to the darkness that I've found a bittersweet comfort in it.
I've yearned peace, but I am stuck in a war with myself— a war with the past.
I wish to move on, but my body and mind has adapted to scenery of pain, an ocean of tears, and fogginess that keeps me hidden from light itself.
I wish to obtain a taste of humanity, yet I allowed the abnormal to swallow me, and destroy me as a whole.
