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OctoberLady17Poems
There are scars. There are paths on my skin That my tears follow, widening gaps, Both corroding and smoothing. There are moments when I want To extinguish my flame for just Five minutes, or ten. And just exist without existing, Without the trouble of being corporeal Being real without having to be real. Because I think crying is a crime. I think my being is a ***** I think life is sometimes a lie. And that we’re all two dimensional, Living what we think are full lives. This is the question I long to and am afraid to ask: How does one carry on? And then Carry on carrying on? How do I forget the sting of salt Sticking to the underside of eyelids And the feeling of weakness after The breakdown? I can’t leave, and I’m terrified of Going on. But there’s no way Not to make a decision. Not deciding Means going on in the meantime’s mean time.
0
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 12:51 AM UTC
Going On
There are scars. There are paths on my skin That my tears follow, widening gaps, Both corroding and smoothing. There are moments when I want To extinguish my flame for just Five minutes, or ten. And just exist without existing, Without the trouble of being corporeal Being real without having to be real. Because I think crying is a crime. I think my being is a ***** I think life is sometimes a lie. And that we’re all two dimensional, Living what we think are full lives. This is the question I long to and am afraid to ask: How does one carry on? And then Carry on carrying on? How do I forget the sting of salt Sticking to the underside of eyelids And the feeling of weakness after The breakdown? I can’t leave, and I’m terrified of Going on. But there’s no way Not to make a decision. Not deciding Means going on in the meantime’s mean time.
OctoberLady17
Written by
OctoberLady17
19/F
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 12:51 AM UTC
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