I am an open-minded writer who is easily amused and often laugh at for it. I am a violist who doesn't practice as often as I should. I am a poet who never rhymes. I am an independent person who is confused throughout most the day. I am a procrastinator wh 7 followers / 434 words
Clouds are beautiful. They never die, but can never live either. All they can do is cry and shine. Floating through the sky at a leisurely pace, unable to stop, totally immortal.
Is it bad when you can't remember to breathe can't remember why you must stay on earth can't think of one good reason to stay level when every step feels less and less firmly planted on the ground can't keep a whole thought before you change to the next line when you feel on the very edge of losing your last bit of precious sanity when you keep repeating yourself and can't remember where it was going when your only escape fails you?
Is it ending when swallowing and breathing are harder when vision is blurring and faded when words and songs run together when you are ready to leave when dark isn't as dark anymore when limbs go numb and needily when a can looks like the best way to finish it all?
This is all I have left in me and all I want is to leave and never have to handle these feelings and impulses and pain again.