Tales of The Two Potatoes

Sweet Suffocation

AN: Please read, even if it's not very interesting at first. Cutie asked me to put this here because it's one of her favorite things I've written. Please no hate, if you have any questions comment them, I'll try and answer as best I can.

We are not where were from or how old we are. Gender is not a definition, weight is just a number, grades are just averages, small talk is an excuse for the things we dont understand. We are, however, our quotes, things we've read, music that speaks our souls language. We are sweet, blissful little moments. We are the little beautiful things and the ugly things sewn together that make an inhabitable mess. We are but irrevocable shards of poetic grace. Grace that stands still in one place, allowing the breeze to move it. We stand still because were afraid that if we move on our own, our loosely sewn shreds will tear and we'll fall apart and become one with the wind. And its terrifying because the breeze cannot be controlled. It is a force of its own, a fast and blurry design invisible to the human eye. I relate to the wind; I am not fast, but it feels as though my mind races with my heart so that I cannot see; my face is a blur of the people loved and left. My hearts a burning intersection of things I cannot release. I am like the universe, empty, scarred but such a beautiful mess. I am a balloon floating past the moon, trying to stop, trying to gain my control again. And I am afraid. Afraid of whats been, whats to come, and whats to leave. And although I know these things about myself, they are not my stitches keeping me together. I dont have many stitches because I am falling apart. My burning existence fuels a boiling emptiness, they scorch my wrist with such content, charring my skin with no regret for the pain they have sent. I am in a battle that cannot be won, the demons have overcome my attack. I rose and then sunk, I sank back into the abyssal afterlife that I awaits to swallow me. I wait for suffocation; I wait for melancholic silence from the voices that tear me apart. I take a diamond and carve my song into my heavy dirty heart. Steal a star and burn the edges, make them dull so they cannot shred my skin. Scream why, to the empty crevices of my eyes. Maybe once I've gone and floated away, the demons will regret their whispers. And maybe I'll be forgotten, like the wishes from childhood that float and pop in the everlasting sky. The wishes of hope, the wishes of faith, the wishes a child makes to reserve its gentle mind in which I have lost. I have lost my soft touch of thought, my sweet caress of wonder. Instead it has been replaced by violent reaction, vain decision, selfish reasoning. No longer do I own the lust of imagination, or live for the honey coated things of life. I am hit by growing up, growing older, kissing goodbye to my youth. And though I am only 14, I cant help but feel pressured to think about whats next. Where is my life going? With the wind I suppose, just like my body. My future is floating and flying, farther and farther away. My body is decaying and dying, falling closer and closer underground. I am nothing but roots, my face has been taken over by the dandelions, my heart has been stolen and shaped around a tree. My soul flees from my body and saunters upon the clouds staring up, longing to know the stars but instead it is stuck in the lonely sky. The empty passage way of blue mocks my misery. The moon laughs at the scars that charred my soul. The suns burn is a welcomed torture my heart craves. And I realize, maybe suddenly, that I do not own this self, this body, this soul. The ground owns the parts that burn, the sky owns the parts that wish to escape reality. The only things left are my thoughts, theyre caged inside my mind never to be free. And when my mind decays from old age no one will know that I've thought between realities. The birds that have been caged inside my mind will screech and cry, my only lullaby. They'll fight to rule my head they'll kill to be on top. Tear each other to pieces, tear me apart, take my heart and shred it. I dont need air to live. I dont need to tears to die. I dont need fire to char. I dont need energy to move. That's the irony of self. In the world they say you need air to live but I am drowning. You need tears to fall on your arms before you die, but when I want to die that is when I am in the eye of the tempest. They say you need fire to char, but only people have burned me. I've been told that I need energy to move but I am so tired from fighting a battle and yet I keep trudging. But Im becoming weaker, eventually I'm going to fall and I wont be able to pick myself up from the deserted ground. I'll become one with the butterflies, and I'll float and finally be free. My burning will stop, my scars will disappear and I'll be beautiful. And I've come to the conclusion that I am not me, there is no me. I am neither a soul or a body. I am not a face, not a name. I am not an age, or a weight. I am a thought, and I find myself questioning if I'm even alive

~MM❤