It took me seven years
to realise
the words in my mind
were too deep for
my mouth to dig up
I thought it was easier
to open my skin
and let the truth
pour down my arms

It took me seven years
to realise
nobody should be allowed
to touch parts
of your home
or hold pieces  
of your heart
that you don't yet understand

It took me seven years
to realise
I will wear these scars
forever
I'll carry them
through every smile
every kiss
every concerned gaze
I'll carry them
to my grave

It took me seven years
to realise
the pain carved
into the walls
of my castle
etchings of
attempting to disappear
are not a story of weakness
but a tale of
how I survived

I kept chasing
you, as if
you were
a distant dream.
But dreams
are not always
dreams.
Sometimes, we have
nightmares too.

What is life?
How would most people define it? The pursuit of happiness? Motion? Surviving above all else?
That certainly is not how I perceive life.
Life is like a waiting room.
Filled with magazines, posters, and little toys for the children to play with.
Distractions, created to occupy our time and ensure we remain entertained.
Until the Reaper arrives to sweep our souls off to oblivion.
Until the sweet, sweet release of death frees us from the confines of life.
From that sickening waiting room.

but what if I don't feeling like falling in love?

I'm tired.