what i write, is my mood.

dum spiro spero

How can something I barely know make me feel so deep? it often starts with a subtle ache, I feel too much even a gentle touch gives the most excruciating burns.

And I am close to believing that things are better when far away. what's worse than forgetting who you were when tragic life hasn't marked you yet? I know things are needless to be real to hurt but why does it have to hurt to be real? I want to cry but I have things to do.

I matter when I know something but there was less in my head now and the only thing I'm familiar with is not forgetting the ruins — the way how this heart aches so much i almost cannot bear it so i had to make cuts to my other body parts to distract the hurt. And it certainly is the reason why my wrist despises me i can nearly hear it curse.
I swear I want to say nothing. but does silence speak volumes when nobody even heard me on nights I often scream?

The answer makes me want to burst out in tears. but i'd rather spend my never-enough free time to sleep for there's work that needs to be done at a later time and by that it means I need rest. But what kind of rest do I need to keep me from feeling the immense weight I've been carrying since I was a child?
Was it the rest six feet under? Mama, I'm so tired of living i could collapse.

I sometimes imagined myself disappearing from a cliff without knowing where to land. Would you forgive me if I am barely sorry with the fact that the last thing I want to do is breathe? My blanket never warmed me anymore, prolly because the cold it was supposed to shield me from has crept all over me, they successfully built a home made entirely of grief inside my body until I grew colder than dead.

I dance somewhere between wanting to let go of the gravity of sadness and feeling afraid for it's the only thing I have, and I'm scared I might end up nothing but numb without it.

credits to the rightful owner of this beautiful point of view : Ms. Karel Ann Belen🤍