❝Deprived of sleep, what a typical occurrence. Setting a new and improved record each time to determine how long I'm able to continue on without causing myself or my psyche to perish. It feels like a hopeless effort. Nothing is helpful, nothing is calming. Nothing can seem to soothe the wretchedness in the silence, nor the looming lost whimper in the deepness of darkness. This mind has become a tomb, the burial ground for all of those caught in the web of misery. There is hope, however thin, however wavering, there is hope.❞
Wednesday, May 29, 2019
4:21 P.M.
YOU ARE READING
Dear Insecurity
Poetry{ONGOING} Excerpts from a book that I will never have the time to write ❝Face down in the dirt She said, this doesn't hurt She said, I've finally had enough.❞ © The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus
