There was once a point in my life where you couldn't keep me from writing.
When the ink would flow from my pen in an unending stream, pouring my consciousness onto paper.
I have not lost myself,
At some point though, I stopped loving myself the way I deserve.
The poison of criticisms had seeped their way into my mind and forever altered the chemistry of my brain into an acidic soil deprived of nutrients.
The winding weeds of doubt overtaken all the space, coaxing their way into every crevasse.
I struggle to pull these weeds out at their root, feeling as though I am constantly nipping at fresh buds, overwhelmed, as I cannot find the spaces beneath the surface where true problems lie.
Can I just throw out all this tainted soil and begin anew with fresh dirt, or am I to spend a lifetime pulling at weeds trying to make room for flowers and food.
I would like to slip softly, kindly, into the abyss..
That sweet nothingness, which cradles all in darkness.
I wish to become part of it,
Letting that cold emptiness entwine itself, into my thoughts, smothering them into decay.
I seek to see no trace left, of this mortality I hold.
To let it drift away on oceans of black, eventually sinking sweetly beneath the tectonic plates.
What do I do, with this sadness.
There's still more left after it spills onto canvas.
I write some words with my pen into a journal and then,
I slip further into this state of madness.
Daylight is fading.. the night sky will soon envelop my world.
The light will fade away from day, til darkness is the only thing to stay.
And all I can do is watch.
Yes I see these memories,
But was I really there?
Body and mind both there in time,
Though soul and thoughts, were where?
The past a story written down,
The pages in a book.
Photographs on camera roll,
The ones I never took.
What lie in your home,
In corners, undisturbed.
Are there thoughts, feelings, of things unknown,
Or one's that may preturb?
Have you ever felt a draft blow through;
That shiver of regret.
Or is your heart hidden from outside view,
Unseen, by even you.
Saftey in shelter, in secrets kept,
I see you, tall and proud.
I also peer through veil and shroud,
Seeing loss for which you've never wept.
How can you expect, to be love adept,
Shunning all feelings which have crept.