*authors note* this is more of a poem turned to a rant, sorry.
Surrounded by relative silence.
Relative dimness
Relative.
Relatively quiet.
Relatively tired.
This planet is relatively,
Relative.
And I don't think I can live with relative.
Relative sounds like normal,
Normal sounds boring,
Boring is not how I want to live my life.
But..
Do I even know how to live anymore?
How to do more than survive?
I want to live.
How do I live?
I gave up so long ago..
How do you care again after losing it all?
How do you care even though you've already lost it all?
How can you care and not at the same time?
Why does caring eat my heart out?
Why?
Why.
Why..
Why do I want to die?
Why is life so hard?
Why.. Why live anymore?
Why live?
Why am I so numb?
Why can't I feel but I feel all of it at the same time?
Why?
What's the point if I can't even think without worrying?
What's the point in living?
What's the point in dying?
I want to live.
I want to feel.
I want to care.
I want to love and be loved.
And believe I'm loved.
I want to live.
I don't even want to die anymore.
YOU ARE READING
Poems of a broken artist
PoesiaDifferent poems to work on helping myself and others. Mostly just to try something new. usually going to be sad but I like happy endings.
