A pen dipped into a bloodstains from a pierced heart can write unfathomable metaphors that only few could understand. In result, it will create a legendary oeuvres. An oeuvres that whenever a writer succumb and rest on his coffin, it will stay as a...
The sky is painted with vivid blue while me down here gazing at it, filled with dark colors. Obscure facial expression can be drawn on my face reflecting the melancholic aura possessing my soul. It's ridiculous how this metaphorical world slowly killing me with it's poison. Many people has been faking me while trying to assasinate me by using their sword of belittlements and arrows of scorn.
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Hopefully, I am armored with my own optimism. No matter how they tried to bury me on my own grave, I keep on pulling myself up. But it didn't stop, the world created thousands of men to flog me, to kill me both verbally and physically. To test my patience. And I am a normal person as well, I also get tired from ceasing it.
Many people doubted my worth which steered me to ask my self-worth --- do I really have a worth? Or do I deserve the space granted to me by this hellish world? And now I came to my conclusion. We dig our own graves, we are victims of our own traps, we create our own story and so are storms of scorns. It is there to teach us precious life lessons and help us realize that struggles are just a state of mind, it didn't actually exist.
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Every life is worth living even if it means eternal torment and pain. Factors affecting the doubting of self-worth of a person should be diminished like any forms of shaming or bullying. We make it exist because we are blinded with apathy and insecurity. If only those could be eradicated, the world may revolve the galaxy harmoniously. And now, I'm in complete isolation while trying to dispose my mournful soul in peace and solitude.
