We cannot write silence.
The beats.
The pause.
The breath.
The way it aches
and persists

and begs that,

if only for a moment,

our consciousness is only a whisper.
our bodies,
our lips,
the air that passes through falling chests
and stillness.

A melody of emotion.
Sleeping in the quiet of a heartbeat skipped
a word lost to the wind.

The wickedness of reticence
Encapsulated in air and time.

The moment stretched too long.
Hesitation perpetuated in the grip of fingernails
pressed into palms.

We cannot write silence,
but we can try.

to find a way to immortalize emotion
to create space
in the ceaseless drone of words that speak and spin.

I cannot write silence. But I can write
tears and years
and the burn of long-stretched lies.

I can write goodbyes and hellos
And dozen ways to say
I love to hate you
Or
I hate to love you
and sometimes
I cannot tell the difference.
Silence.
The space I have upheld for myself.

I love to hate you
Heart.

I hate to love you too.

I cannot write silence.
But I know it.
and I have held it in my hand.

My friend asks, “Do you never get tired of your sadness?”

I do.

Everyday is a battle I face, struggling to keep myself alive, trying to find reasons to not **** myself but all I can find are reasons why I’m better off dead.

She says, “Why don’t you try doing things that makes you happy?”

I wish it was that easy to do the things I enjoy (read: used to enjoy) doing but it’s hard when you can’t even get yourself out of the bed in the morning, wishing you would just stop existing instead because that seems like the only probable solution to your problem.

It’s hard to be happy when you’re being constantly reminded just how much of a **** you are, all the negative thoughts eating you alive. The feeling of emptiness clawing its way through your throat and making its presence known but god knows you don’t  want it — never even asked for it in the first place.

I’m tired of being sad all the time. I’m tired of always being tired, locking myself in my room and withdrawing myself from any forms of social interaction because the thing is I don’t have enough energy to talk to anyone today, please leave me alone.

These days I’ve been feeling numb. I try to do things to make myself feel something — or anything at all, but all that I am is numb and empty. It’s like nothing will ever bring me happiness or sorrow. I feel like there’s nothing that will ever make me feel something again.  

My friend says, “You know I’m here for you, right?” but she never remembers to check up on me on days I feel like darkness is the only thing to keep me company, the weight of living taking its toll on me. She never remembers to ask me how I’m doing on days where I feel like death is the only solution to my depression.

It’s hard to stay alive when you can’t seem to find any reasons to live at all.

—l.a.

you told me i was like an open book—easy to read, but difficult to understand.

”why?” i asked, and you simply simled at me and said,

”because you’re written in a language i am not fluent in.”

one, two, three, four, five
i try to count the amount of tears that fell from my eyes,
but they were uncountable like the raindrops that falls from the sky,
though, i don't know the reason why i cry.

it's always like this every single day,
one moment i'm okay,
then the next second i find myself crying,
it's hard but i'm trying.

i'm trying to find words to describe this unexplainable feeling,
but i always end up finding nothing,
because, the truth is don't even know what i feel,
i don't even know why i'm like this.

sometimes i want people to see through me,
i wish for my friends to see what i really feel,
but it's like they don't even care,
they only tell me it's all gonna be okay.

but words are just words,
sure, they do bring comfort,
though, only for a short amount of time;
i wish they'd do something else other than say those ****** lines.

people don't understand it at all,
it's not just me being sad,
it's not just about me feeling empty;
i wish there were words to describe how i feel.

my heart feels so empty,
and my mind keeps on screaming at me—
telling me that i am useless,
making me feel even more worthless.

please help me,
i'm trying but nothing seems to be working,
and at the end of the day i always find myself crying,
wishing i was anything but unhappy.

—l.a.

Sad days are here again.
Sad days are here to play.
Sad days, you came back.
Back so soon?

It's the little things; they make me sad. I often brush them away. I'll sweep it into a tiny corner, at the back of my mind, until one day. Without me realizing it, becomes a tall mountain of sadness.

A small, painless kick sends the mountain into an explosion; crashing down like an avalanche. Leaving me a crying mess, hiding behind closed doors like a forgotten ragged doll; sad and feeling empty.

"I'm sorry I woke up late. I was too comfortable being under the blanket of crocheted sadness. I wanted to keep my eyes shut; devoid of the real world. I wanted to keep dreaming of things I couldn't have. I'm sorry I got up so late. Truth is, I didn't want to wake up. *Because getting up would bring me even more pain and misery."

-m.b

You told me you wanted to be an artist but you do not know how to paint. What you did not know was that you are already an artist, and the first art you have ever painted was the smile across my lips.

all the flowers
i have ever
taken care of
and has ever
held in my hand
always ends up
withering—
just like how
your heart did
when you gave
it to me.