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Grace Conde Jan 31
Tenebrous days in which it feels as though you will never be happy again; nothing is wrong, but nothing is right. You spend all day switching between uncontrollable crying and complete and utter emotional numbness, feeling stuck in time, as though everything is moving in slow motion. For you are trapped underwater, and all of your energy is put into just keeping your head afloat above the murky water.

Black ink running though your veins, coughing for air, you fear the darkness inside you is contagious. Slowly sinking, ears ringing, muscles aching, bloodshot eyes, your head throbbing every time you blink.

You watch the light dance across the room as the days fade into dusk, closing your eyes, and letting the shadows cover you like a blanket. And you beg, you plead, you pray, that the next breath you take will be your last.
Grace Conde Oct 2018
Fabric held between fragile fingers, closed eyes. Faded fabric, Her sweater dripping with watery despair. Suddenly, a violent wave of Her scent brings you to your knees, leaves you gasping for air, the Hole in your Heart burning, blistering and raw. She is so near, so close. Your ribs ache, your lungs cry out, no longer able to withstand the magnitude of your Grief.

Mournful, choking sobs, ones that leave cracks in your Bones, holes in your Skin. Until strong arms grab your shaking shoulders, a soft hand reaches over and gently wipes your Tears. It is warmer, so much warmer, and the air is lighter, as She takes your hand in Hers.

You hold Her tight, tighter than ever before, burying your face in Her shoulder, softly whispering words of Sorrow, Regret; words of Love and Reconciliation. How much you have missed Her, how empty you have been. She nods, She knows, for She too, has felt such pain. She too, has been lost among the loneliness.  

You let Her arms embrace you, Her laughter fills your ears, your heart. Because with Her beside you, Her arms around you, you can feel the shattered pieces start to re-align.

And for the first time since that cold September morning,

You can breathe again.
Grace Conde Oct 2018
I hate you,
the way You
make my Heart
twist, dagger in my
chest, sinking, sinking,
my lungs slowly filling, Your
smile the only thing that can save
me. I Love You I'm So Incredibly Sorry
please come back, because without You, I
am Nothing: You are my sun, my moon, and
All My Stars, but I am so tired, and if I could find
a way to push You Out Of My Mind for good, I would,
and how I wish You were Dead, because I am screaming,
but No One Can Hear Me.


I Hate You, my throat burning with Vivid, Unfiltered Hate
for You, every time You Let Me Down, my mind
already bound with your empty promises, my
dear, can't You see? My heart beats for You.
And when You take me in your tender
embrace, slowly putting me back
together, I can finally breathe.
With You, the world rights
on its Axis. Please don't
Hate me, I'm so sorry
I Love You.
Grace Conde Oct 2018
I cling to
searching for
a Sense of Self.
I weave
Myself with
colorful string,
taken from
I need someone
to tell me
Who I Am:
my likes and dislikes,
my ambitions,
my dreams.
I can be Whoever
Want Me To Be,
but please,
don't leave,
because Without
I am Nothing.
Grace Conde Oct 2018
I exist
on the border
between Reality,
and the Imaginary.

I breathe in belligerent Black,
and Withering whites.
I am incapable of grays,
a gradient of gruesome Grief.

I dance on the Border,
exhaling exuberant fragility,
my border is made of glass.

And I rise from the ashes,
a Byproduct of the
bridges I've burned.
Craving soothing touch,
Yet silently seeking
Incriminating Isolation,
Addicted to my own destruction.

A shattered soul dutifully
Dances on the Border,
Held captive by her sins.
Trapped between Good
and Bad. Happiness
and Heartbreak. Lost
and Found. Death
and Resurrection.

Born on the Border, a
Simple Figment of
Immoral Imagination.

— The End —