There's a damp corner in my bedroom . I often see water slowly dripping out of it . The paint on it has faded . Once bright red almost blinding one's eyes , is now gone as if a demon slowly licked it off . I seldom find insects crawling on it . They go on and on forming a pattern of their own .
It is a continuous cycle for them or rather me . The moulds are the only sign of it being alive . In patches , it breathes . They have made home of out it , spreading its existence like ink on paper . As humans I often wonder , am I also falling into a mundane routine ? But who observes me or collectively us , the humans . God ? I have read people like Nietzsche , Sartre , Campus , Kafka and so on but yet , tragically yet I see the meaning of life in these moulds . They make me question my faith , my selfishness , my character and lastly my existence . I'm confined in one place with my limits . I've always been the one to follow rules . The supposedly "good girl " . Now for once , I tempted to be something more . Maybe a paradox . An enigma perhaps . What if for once I spread my wings to fly in a direction unknown ? Will I meet the same fate as of Icarus ? Will I be like a phoenix? Or will I be just a nuisance?
At the end .... it's just me and what ifs consuming my entire being . I wish I could set myself free .
There's a damp corner in my heart . Indeed , I agree .
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A Piece Of My Heart
PoetryI find dark things beautiful . I exist in thousands of agonies. If chaos was a work of art , then my heart would be a masterpiece. And when nobody wakes you up in the morning, and when nobody waits for you at night, and when you can do whatever you...
