Closed every door by myself.
Struggling even to stand up. Burning within, back facing the floor barely breathing barely alive. one thing running through my mind, What if I knew back then what I know right now? What I really was and now I'm ****** up in between! Now is no time for whining no place to complain. Your aggression, turn it to focus. Its like the fuel, burn it to race your raging engine! Might've been failing but never stop trying. After all you've been through Or all that could've been, now you've come closer to what you've been doing!
the inner voice whispers,
"tell them you're struggling." my vocal cords are warmed up, ready to give life to the words. but the hand over my mouth is an impermeable barrier set by the critical voice that is fueled by fear.
You don't really know What madness is Until you reach That level Where you are Self driven Once You are mad For sure You will crave to be Mad again Keep moving
Theme: Better Human Project || Passion Author's Note: How do we know, what we know? And the ordinary will never understand what madness is, and that moment you don't need to make them understand. Let it be the passion for life.
The pain rots and sheds,
as it smoulders her bones and burns her skin third degree. Loss and jealousy enwrap her scorched heart into ashes, while lava flows off her tongue as it promises vengeance. She becomes a vortex of emotions engulfing her own life, dwelling in the merry go round thoughts. Until she picks up the pen and tucks the rage and ache within the 26 alphabets stringing words, to sentences to paragraphs. Ashes and embers stain the paper as they ebb, blot and flow, crafting the cathartic relief until the paper stains darker than the shades of her mind. The blues that would pour, become the budding flowers in her chest. She remodifies cobblestones into steppingstones, amplifying her narrative. She tosses the losses into words and crosses beyond the horizon. A candle flame burns deep inside her solar plexus as she transmogrifies the shards into a mosaic; the strings of the web she was entangled in weaved into embroidery to embellish her soul. The cries and lies, made her wise as she built from the same sorrows she was drowning in. She put her ache on cadence and turned up a brain wavelength. She finally found her salvation from abandonment a dive deep and wide into the depth of introspection pulling from the cronies and nooks the parts built and undiscovered. She armed herself with empathy fueled passion as she has burnt, learnt and learn to yearn the better while she steers forward with a transfigured mindset. For the people who came, now leave as poems.
Sailing the guilty-seas
as regret trickles down my spine and unloads its over-thought-husky-murky-thoughts upon my shoulders. My daily rations are here: shame, regret and guilt. They’re brewing me to the bone; into a rotten broth. My thoughts pace backwards and forwards from guilt — for remaining stagnant, one of the past. For being recycled relentlessly-unbreakably in this unhealthy cycle. It is a cycle of forget me nots; such vile fetters. But no dose can reverse the abused time, the stutters-and-mutters the time that slipped my grips and the sins that swallowed my innocence whole. For remorse, guilt and shame only anchor us back unless we were to morph them to fuel and experience to propel us forward.
The water will rise,
let it. The fire will burn, fuel it. The darkness will come, light it. My strength won't quit so I fight on.
Thank you to the incredibly talented Christian Love and my big brother Todd Hoover.
Is love the fuel of our hearts?
Because maybe we should switch fuel. Because our hearts are polluted.
Having some difficulties with leaving bad people.
We loved with careless enthusiasm
Your touch cooled my burning chest Out of melancholic monotony Embraced flaws and silent distress Warm skin the ultimate compliment Formless bodies seeking relief Yet the mind mine was so connected to Overflows my thoughts with grief And I see the mess I've made of us Cry because I know it's my fault Pouring darkness into your body Leading you into assault One moment you were everything Couldn't stop love I felt Next found myself wanting space With time passion began to melt The feelings I relished dwindled with grace Rehearsing lines of the part I'm trying to be All that's left is only a trace Of the magic once fueling our love story
huddled beneath the *****, dark alleys of the past
there's a girl rubbing her hands together for a semblance of warmth the cold bites deep through bare clothing chilling her to the bone as the frost flurries through and bright Christmas trees set her eyes alight she shakily pulls a small matchbook from her pocket with a breath, she mutters a prayer and strikes the match to watch it burn one last time the flame wavers but continues to burn 'till there is no fuel left just as the light dies she, too, dies and the ghosts come to take her hand to a safer place where it's Christmas yearlong and warm embraces await for the little match girl has left for somewhere, something beyond our reach
little match girl