i can feel not a thing. the air around me is light, and nothing hurts anymore. i look in a mirror and see myself. a heavy gaze upon a fragile surface. i stare so hard it could shatter the frail glass. the darkness under my eyes, the dullness of my movements. i am but a walking corpse amongst the beautiful life around me. my arms are still. i try to feel my pulse, but i find nothing. not one single beat. i can no longer cry. i can no longer feel pain. i am dead.
i see you, beaming with character and life, and it puts a smile on my broken face. you seem so happy, yet i can tell you are slowly dying on the inside as well.
can you see me? or am i invisible?
tell me you can see me, my love.
i love you.
did you ever love me back?
even though i may be dead, my heart
still beats for you.
-an ode.
YOU ARE READING
self hell
Poetryprogression. modern ART enjoy, or don't. i can't tell you what to do. i can only encourage you. you needn't worry about who tells the story you just need to sit down and read the raw, impure, filthily honest tale of anger, love, and greed.
