overtime, i had it in my mind that keeping everything to myself would result in a rather peaceful place than going around telling people my grief—not revealing an inch of it while holding the universe in me.
i'd say that i have honed it.
if there were really a universe within me, all the blackholes and constellations in my chest—the atlas in me would most likely be there carrying the heavens of my anguish.
but i was also envious of other people's throughput to grieve or range their way out of their suffering.
so, i wondered, what if the atlas in me eventually surrender to bear the heavens in my chest?
will i finally diminish and disappear?
will i reek mayhem and chaos?
will atlas be finally pain-free?
will i finally get rid of the heaviness i've been lifting with my bled-out and scarred hands for so long?
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts Bared in Gray Nuances
Poetry...and so, rather than flowers, throw the torn pages of this vestige to my tomb. and so, instead of elegies, recite all the pieces written here. and so, in lieu of crying, burn this whole thing and toss this tome's ashen catachresis to my grave. do...
