He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come

Dear diary;
I'm so tired.
I am so tired of wasting energy
on those who so not reciprocate.
I am so tired of proving a point
to those who do not listen.
I am so tired of forgiving the same person
over and over again.
I am so tired of putting on a happy face
when that is not the case.
I am so tired of staying silent
for my mental health.
I am so tired.

there’s
something
comforting
about
the
vacancy
in
­my
heart