Layers of conflict and trauma
engraved in generations before,
i pull apart each layer
only seeming to uncover more.

I can't escape the past
that infects the family tree,
but I can end the violent cycle
and grow my branches separately.

Journal entries,
and random thoughts,
mindless sketches,
ones and noughts

I drag my pen
across the page,
a display of mind
that shall never age.

I bask under rays of sunlight
that burn my skin
searing,
scalding,
until I'm simply a vessel of rays
no longer filled with the misery
that once repressed me.

My solitude is a blessing and a curse.
I can spend days on end thinking to myself,
my past,
my future,
but I can't spend a moment living out reality.

Grief is like a broken root
From which nothing grows.
There’s no way to revive the dead root,
But healing is the garden that grows around it.

I’m battling with the thoughts inside my head.

Some want me to live,
and some want me dead.

I keep fighting the anger,
And fighting the dread.

I’m hanging on to my sanity
by the end of a thread.

Every day is blurred together,
an hour feels less,
a minute takes forever.
Emotions erased,
feeling confused,
I’m simply nothing,
My life has no use.

bright faces, darker minds
the path of truth, i've left behind
I only tell myself the lies,
im never living a truthful life

If roses can bloom in a bed of thorns
then i can grow in this hateful world

She said, "I wish I were the clouds, for it's tears are prettier than mine."
He said, "I wish i were the mountains, so i could reach unto the sky."

She said, "I wish I were the sun, so people would miss me when I'm gone."
He said, "I wish I were the forest, so I would be where I'd belong."

She said, "I wish that I were of something that nature withholds,
it's peaceful out there,"

Which is only what she was told.
It all seems infinite,
but we don't know the story behind it.

The clouds, they wander lost,
the mountains want to be stronger,
the sun has no companion,
and the forests wish for forever.