Maybe I'm just a procrastinator,
An "I'll do it later"
"I still have time"
Maybe lazy is who I became,
After so long of doing nothing, nothing felt the same.
Maybe I just lay in bed and let them consume me, let each thought drown me because I was bored. Bored of the silence, bored of the deafening pierce of not caring.
Maybe it's cause emotion stirs and tears flow, just so I can feel something as strong as hate on a good day.
To hate life, to hate peace, to hate me.
Maybe it's all fake, an attention grabbing moment inspired by the human need for a sweet hug and a chaste kiss.
Either way the guilt will always be the strongest, cause after my bones gain weight and I lift myself out the open coffin.
And I dress myself in 'fine' and 'ok', I'm always late, to the life that keeps ticking as I lay there in my misery.
And the all consuming guilt washes over me and thoughts ever more real.
So maybe it's fake, maybe it's just all in my head.
But when the tears fall it's real, when my chest aches it's real. When I can't bare my to live inside or outside my body it's real.
When I can't get up, can't move, can't do what I need to do it's real.
Its always real in those moments.
Its just so very fake after.
YOU ARE READING
Salvaged Soul
Poesía"The mind is a beautiful servant but a dangerous master" It said "so i must then let it serve my soul" I whispered A salvaged soul is not new, it is old. It has lost and is still losing but is no longer who it was when it first broke. To be one step...
