It's hard not to hate.
People, things, institutions...
When they break your spirit and take pleasure in watching you bleed.
Hate is the only thing left.
The only thing that make sense.
But, unfortunately,
I know what hate does to a man :
Tears him apart,
Turns him into something he's not.
Something he'll never be.
Something he promised himself he'd never become.
That's what I need to tell you today.
To let you know how fucked up I am,
how trapped my conscious is,
how hard it is not to cave under the weight of all the awful things I hide in my heart.
The things that are eating me alive.
Sometimes my life feels like a deadly balancing act.
What I feel slamming up against the things I SHOULD feel.
Impulsive reactions racing to solutions, miles ahead of my brain.
When I look at my day,
I realize that most of it was spent cleaning up the damage of the day before.
Every day.
In that life I have no future.
All I have is distraction, remorse and pain.
I lost my father a few years ago.
And as cliché as it sounds,
A part of me, of my soul, of my spirit was burried with him.
A part I barely knew.
A part I'll never see again.
A part I gave him.
A part he took away from me for eternity.
And every single day I lose a new part.
A part that I could never get back.
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Écrire pour exister
PoetryParfois tout ce qu'il nous reste c'est les mots. Notre cerveau ne nous trahira jamais et j'ai décidé d'en faire mon arme secrète. J'écris, j'écris, j'écris. Plus je pense, plus j'écris et plus j'écris plus je me sens légère. Il y a un peu de tout...
