All you can do is watch
As she pries the light from your eyes
Your breath now clambering in and out of your chest
She lifts your feet so far above your head that you shake
You can't breath
You can't ******* breath
No time to think
You have to get out
There is nothing left that you can feel
As she sits a weight on your chest you fall asleep
Seconds later you wake up
Panicking you squirm around like a maggot underneath her
As she stands so far above you that you can't even see her
You can't see her
She is the omnipotent sky above
SO ******* FAR ABOVE
It's not the fact you can't see her
But that she doesn't care to look at the mess she's made
She is god
And she is unbothered
She is untouchable

I used to think the cause of the loss of my writing ability is because I am happy, which will be highly doubtful, or I am empty, that I don't feel anything, leaving nothing to write, leaving the words soulless.

Now it has come to a realization that the cause of it is because; I don't let myself to feel.

I buried my sadness in silence, in nonexistent boxes of shadows and slowly, painfully, I'm getting used to it. To not acknowledging my feelings, to think they're *******, that my sadness is useless, and I shouldn't feel that way.

And when it gets too overwhelming, too suffocating, I don't know where to go. I ran out of boxes, they couldn't take it anymore. I don't know where to go, and when I try to pen the sadness down, the papers sound as if they're mad at me, as if they refuse to listen. No words coming out, it's left blankly and I thought it's because words will not do justice to the feelings I endure, turns out it's because I unknowingly **** my own healing.

As I'm in the process to have it back, most of it ends to no avail. I want to write again. I want to write again, for myself, for my own sanity, for you, for the world.

You crowd me
You suffocate me
You dress me in chains of gold
You hold me
You kiss me
You surround me in proclamations bold
“I love you”
“I need you”
“You are all I have”
I can’t stand you
I hate you
But I’m your only salve

what is the point of breathing,
if you're going to suffocate on it anyway,

His concentration
              lapsed for a moment
          and a million tears
       suffocated.

Asleep on the job,
   his people were smothered.

And the xylophone melody
  of starvation was watched
                       from afar.


Buried beneath shallow prays,
          they were naked truths
          of a denial of faiths failings.
  

Nothing is watching,
   and If it was its a voguer of pain.


Not omnipotent, but a perverted
                 version of humanities

worst traits..


But since then we have grow,
   and realised that we are better
watching ourselves.

      Humanity is the light that can shine,
Showing others that we are the morality
of self, and we need to watch ourselves grow.

Never to suffocate our principles,
           there what makes up evolved
                from the past mistakes that
  colour us in shame and show we ned to grow.

somehow you always expect the universe to wait for you.
that the trees will stop growing and the sky will stop raining.
maybe the rivers will stop flowing or the snow will stop falling.
you wither away,
just waiting for the moment that the sky will bend to hold your hands and pull you to stand a little straighter.

you let yourself fall apart while the world moves on in hopes that it will stop.
the earth will stop spinning,
the seasons will stop changing,
people will stop leaving you behind,
wind will stop blowing away the ashes of your broken memories.
you hope against hope that the trees will weave themselves together to make you a safety blanket.
maybe the mountains will rise around you and protect you from the barrage of the outside world,
but it never does.

time goes on,
people grow older,
they grow more independent.
nothing in the universe will wait for you as you grow tired in an endless battle over your own subconscious,
an endless battle to win back the privilege to control your own life.

you find yourself lost time and time again,
wandering down an abandoned road,
caught in a sea of loneliness,
waves crashing against you as you fight to breathe and fix your life.
you suffocate with lack of authority over your own being.
your reliance on the support will be your undoing.

but still,
you blame it on those who are too busy fixing their own life to deal with your madness,
those who are already caught in their own war and let themselves suffocate to let you breathe,
leaving you behind.
a sole survivor who is waiting in line to suffocate for another,
an endless cycle of selfishness and selflessness.