Holding onto my sadness is much like holding a delicate piece of glass. I hold onto it so tight that it breaks in the palm of my hand. Slowly the broken pieces cut through my skin, making my hand a canvas for the blood to drip off of.
But I don't feel the pain on my hands, I feel it in my chest.
The only thing I can think about is this empty feeling in my chest that has gotten too comfortable and doesn't want to leave.
Its like I'm in love with sadness and happiness hates me.
Lately I've been feeling a little bit crazy.
This is the only emotion I have been able to feel along with nostalgia, despair and all of those other words that are stuck in my throat that prevents me from breathing in fresh air.
I am out of my mind, yet I present an image where it seems like I am perfectly fine.
But then again everyone is fighting their own demons. Fighting their own thoughts. Fighting to not fight with yourself.
And sometimes my thoughts take over making my head hurt and palms sweat.
It makes me sick, but at least I know I can still feel something.