AN: This story might need some context so for those who don't quite understand it, leave a comment and I'd be willing to make an "AN chapter" on giving context.
When you're on your last string of the stitch, you would think that you'd feel relieved because you're almost done, but when you have to deal with such ignorance, that string is as tight as your nerves, so close to bursting, but not quite there yet.
It's like a room with no door to leave, leaving you no choice but to jump out the window because you just don't want to deal with it anymore. You're sick and tired of being in a room full of ignorance. Your brain is an Olympic runner, because the only thing that's in that room, is a window, and your nerves, ripping apart... into pieces, and it hurts so much, that you have no choice, but to take the only exit out of that room, even though you don't want to.
You would probably think that the drop is short-lived, the same way you thought about dealing with all those Olympic runners in your head, but in all reality, you can always use your last nerves, tie them up like your last piece of string on the stitch, and climb your way down, back to the start... and the start, is whatever you want that to be.
YOU ARE READING
Pain To Poems
PoetryThis is something I wanted to do for a while. Huge Trigger Warnings for people sensitive to super depressive topics. DISCLAIMER #1: I am in no way shape or form, $u!c!dal, but don't you ever just want to give up on life? Like, not die, but give up...
