Blank pages,
I've never got past that stage
I saw myself coughing stardust while setting my lungs up in flames
These phases,
Almost never come to fade
They were cycles recurring every lifetime after my every counted death
If I could retrace the steps
Heal open wounds to make meet the ends,
Maybe paradise would be more real and less only in my head
A state of mind they say,
Why does my flesh hurt though I haven't cut in days
I haven't touched a blade or a bottle of gin
But my insides are scorched,
I live in hell and I can't come to ignore the pain
My mind spirals out thoughts that birth darkness from a void
Depression like a cloak but my smile tuck my eyes in to hide what no one really knows
The confusion starts when I could swear to anyone that I'm finally happy,
While the darkness in me lurks around like a dog on watch chasing away any light leaks
- writer's block ( the note )
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