Behind every closed doors there are shadows and through those shadows do we see darkness and we see the fear of others.
What you were terrified of is now lurking beside you and every moment you see the red of their eyes something in you feels a little more i dont know,
Off.
Crazy?
There isny really words to describe the sounds they make when they speak because not all of them talk the same.
If your me you feel their energy,
Know their thoughts,
In some weird twisted way you are about as half of them.
Both trying to teach the unteachable and tell the world that you are here.
Both screaming for help but never finding any,
Both what the apocalypse sought for.
We see you because you see us and you know we arent afraid of you.
You see us because you see a place to call your home but not me.
I am not your vessel.
I am no ones home because if the demons want to take this house they will have to pry it apart first,
Bone by miserable bone,
Slash away flesh,
And burn out whatever soul is left inside.
Because i may be half of what was killed but i will nwver truly die and you bastards best be lucky i had half a mind and motion to come back.
YOU ARE READING
Indigo
PoetryLooking through the eyes of a people you learn that there are two options: Your either plastic or dead. Being an empath isnt easy but you learn that the way you see things is much more then just black and white and growing up sideways i learned that.
