There comes a time
when nothing remains for us
to say to ourselves,
The depression intensifies,
The last piece that used to make us smile each morning
begins to ebb.
There comes a time when we sob for no good reason,
when tears well our eyes all of a sudden,
and people mock us.
There comes a day when we become tired of ourselves,
of this world and chaos,
when we get tired to fight
and want to sleep for a while,
want to end this war for a minute
before moving on.
A time comes when we want to become the worst of ourselves,
of our hearts, of our lives,
when we want to live life
in the most miserable way ever—
recklessly, with no one to care.
A day comes when the matte lipsticks
color our swollen lips in red pain
slowly caging our mouth, then throat.
When the mascara border the eyes
with thick warm tears,
when the mere cosmetics
swell our hearts in pain,
When his "copy-and-paste" excuses
tattoo my eyes in turmoil.
Nothing seems okay when everything is.
A certain time comes when ignoring
turns way more difficult than smiling at problems.
When telling them my pain becomes tougher
than smiling at it.
When holding my feelings back
pierce and bruise the walls of my heart,
of my brain, of my whole body.
A certain numbness, recklessness, boldness
overwhelm our hearts.
An outrageous feeling shrouds our shoulders,
The complicated calculation that goes wrong every time
ease our nerves, our tangled thoughts;
when we turn ice-cold
after burning for decades
in utter agony, none seems to care of.
And at the end of the day,
when these make me insane,
and I want so hard to drive them away,
I went back to them like a migratory bird
to the dead bruises.
I know my life's half-based on them;
they are the pillar of my existence.
_______________________
A/N: What happens when your anchor goes away? Hopefully someone votes for you :)
YOU ARE READING
the slow art of breathing bitter
Poetryslow dancing love and pain in the midnight chorus of liquor-washed autumn green ... || a constellation of destructive poetry ||
