you speak of your rotting heart and decaying mind with bitter fondness.
Like a tragedy you can't help but wanting to see the end of.
Walking through life with hazy eyes and faltering steps.
You'll keep on moving even if you have to drag yourself through it.
Tired limbs and torn up skin, blood covered and rotting from the inside out.
They offer to help and you can't help but laugh.
Where was this help when you needed it?
When there was actually something they could do...
It was nothing but an empty gesture now.
A mockery of everything you had suffered through.
Pity dressed up as empathy.
They call you brave, but all you see yourself as is tragic.
Torn up and useless and clinging on to broken bones,
squeezing so tightly in the hopes that you wont fall apart.
Bruised knuckles, split lip and dripping blood.
Staining everything you touch.
The world will keep on moving, so you will too.
You hope that it will be enough.
YOU ARE READING
The diary of Seth Alexander
Non-Fictionas the title suggests, this is legit going to be my diary. and yes, most diaries are supposed to be secret, but I have always been an open book. I like to pretend to be mysterious, but the people around me will all tell you that I am someone who do...
