DONT READ
hajima
pls
crAppY stuFf
;;;;;;;;;;;
The timeline i wrote on the title is a lie
It's only 9:47 pm and i am already certain that i wont sleep
not because i cant
because finally after a ton of stressful exams and exhaustion, i finally mastered the art of not sleeping
art? psh who am i kidding
now i am certain that tonight will be sleepless because i dont want to
i choose not to
i dont want to sleep
waiting
> merged
......
i can feel my heart beating and my veins pumping and my lungs doing whatever bodily function it's supposed to be doing, i can feel my hands trembling and my breaths getting heavier as the second passes by but why dont i feel alive
why dont i feel alive
fvck you depression that's why
you are a claw that grasps on everything i love and crumples it like soft paper, shredding everything to pieces that are never to be restored>
you are a pigeon that shts on everything that makes me happy just for the sake of it, troll; and i shit you not, i'm not surprised that you stopped shttng on me but not on the others because i know that i dont make myself happy>
you are a disease that paralyzes my whole being, my soul trembles for you, you are its god, its divine being; you are the asthma that chokes me when the room is crowded with people with labels and feelings and opinions, noise! but often times you are most destructive, your grip tightens on my throat during 3 am when everything is quiet and at peace, when the place is empty and so am i. the place is empty but i feel suffocated anyways. maybe that's where i got my fear of confinement from? being confined in my own thoughts? jailed in my own mind?
it tightens during 2 pm the most unexpected time when even though i am surrounded by people, i feel excluded because you wrap every single inch of you around my soul, covering every part of it like a blanket to a child.
and even during 6 am your nails dig deeper into my collar bones, my forehead, my stomach, my ankles, my fragile parts. even when i'm watching a pretty sunrise and it's colors begin to scatter about and mix, your nails still do its job and leave marks and scratches.
and i hate it that ive been infiltrated by my own mind<
betrayed by my own self, enemy<
i hate that ive become the foe of my own friend, me
and that im now the one who holds knives instead of that green knife holder on top of the counter in the kitchen.
and that ive become the canvas of my portraits, crimson red as the only colour used in the making, and instead of paintbrush my hands hold a P35 yellow cutter brought from a nearby store.
buntong hininga.
YEYYRJKFNFF'YNSPJVJSOFGD;OISGTHGNPQWEK'P'
>latepublished
crappy :stuff
