My books are packed.
I held their souls in my very hands.
Now, the shelves howl with darkness.
Hollowed.
I feel empty too.
Neither here nor there.
My life is packed. My books are packed.
The emptiness fills me.
Perhaps, I should take out my books,
Put them on the shelves,
And look at them,
One
Last
Time...
Jan 18, 2020
Jan 18, 2020 at 4:47 PM UTC
I am you.
You, who feels the grey underlay.
You, who can feel so happy and yet at the same time the numb weight is beneath you.
You, who can laugh, smile and wave because you’re so good at being brave.
You are happy.
You, who talks to their friends,
You, who loves another human.
I am you.
You, who thinks about dying and just stopping being.
You, who knows that something’s wrong,
But, you’re fine.
I am you who lies horizontal with the clouds, feeling the grey underlay but always reaching to keep your face in the sun.
No one close to you will ever know, but I know. I see you. I am you.
Nov 9, 2019
Nov 9, 2019 at 3:22 PM UTC
Body. On the road. Blood.
Your soul - away.
Open eyes show horror.
They pierce my heart
And I’m overcome.
Your last moments:
Run, terror, loud, dark.
A precious life cut short.
Your very bones strewn,
Undignified and repugnant
So that many look away.
But I force myself to look
And I feel immensely
The loss of your wisp of life.
I want to carry you to a flowering meadow.
I want to grieve with your family- left without you.
I want to shelter your babies, starving and lonely.
We pass too quickly.
It’s five seconds of thought.
We move on.
I cannot see you anymore.
But I whisper, ‘Sorry.’
And I make a deep wish
From my guilty heart
That your soul is floating in eternal joy and peace.
Oct 6, 2019
Oct 6, 2019 at 4:59 AM UTC