Words sit at the back of my mind.
Lurking.
Forever waiting.
They shape themselves into sentences I want to utter but never can. They take up little moments I have in everyday life.
They swallow me up.
Cover me like a blanket I can never kick off.
Smothering me.
Robbing me of my right to breathe.
But no one sees my underlying deprivation of oxygen.
They don't want to.
No one wants to be responsible for the blue tint of my soul.
They don't wish to resuscitate.
Cause of death?
Purposeful negligence.
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 11:26 AM UTC
Words sit at the back of my mind.
Lurking.
Forever waiting.
They shape themselves into sentences I want to utter but never can. They take up little moments I have in everyday life.
They swallow me up.
Cover me like a blanket I can never kick off.
Smothering me.
Robbing me of my right to breathe.
But no one sees my underlying deprivation of oxygen.
They don't want to.
No one wants to be responsible for the blue tint of my soul.
They don't wish to resuscitate.
Cause of death?
Purposeful negligence.
