Suffocated by a web of a world that does not understand: Words in my throat, caught like little flies struggling against the weave, Emotions suppressed deep, encased in the widow's cocoon -- I am silenced, hidden under the surface.
Like a star, hope trickles down soft as a weak creak stream. Light but dull, a beacon in an entire world of darkness; Little ones walking will be the ones to watch it grow strong, But I, a little fly, will die waiting for a light that is not for me.
This web is a cold and lonely prison, I pray that, in this blackness, I am not alone As I wait for more hearts to light the spark That might burn away this web of a cage.
Shh… don't tell anyone but I wrote this for my friend's research paper. It's about Pride and Prejudice and the feminism undertones Jane Austen uses when writing. <3
stress like the rest I’m trying to get something off my chest. its a weight so great my body begins to shatter all i want to do is yell but this weight is hell it pushes all the air from my lungs till they are bare. do you even care? are you even there? stress is the pain in my chest it feels like cardiac arrest i feel like i should be wearing a bullet proof vest because I’m wearing a red target on my chest. just something to aim at. stress is a mess with no clear way to clear a path without being cluttered by fear. it will bring tears, it will make you think of the ones you hold dear, stress is that weight on your chest making you feel oppressed. its something i deal with normally dont worry i dont repress. i paint it on this page with each move i make a digital valve releases letting you read this.
Led by delusion in blinders, Stilled by shackles on my hands and silenced with a *******. This life is lived locked on the wrong side of the bullet proof glass. Half truths are the only truth. Every coin, every story, has only one side. The path before, and for miles behind me, is filled with glass and burning coals. My mind is free, but what point does it serve? My auto biography is a lie, redacted by the masters of the universe. This is my world. This catatonic existence is self made.