Blossoming With Her

g o n e

you're gone. no one knows if you've gone far down the black hole, but you're somewhere. floating around.

thinking.

breathing.

sometimes forgetting to breathe. not because there is too much going on, but because there is nothing else to do.

the blurry party lights, neon colours blinding each aspect of your moral thoughts. maybe by now you've realised that you can't take it. you actually thought about what you want.
what you feel.
what is right.
what is wrong.
what you are doing.

what are you doing?

you begin to stumble. the never ending reminders of punishments for bad behaviour begin to spill into you train of thought. you think of the worst situation out there.

your mother spilling tears over your mistakes.

people using you as an example for failure.

others assuming you cannot handle what's outside.

when you can. you always could. you always can. but the obnoxiously long sharp claws of the past keep digging into your back like daggers and pull you back into the obis.
you start floating.

thinking.

breathing.

going.

gone.