Stinging you with her electric eyes This is your turn to lose the prize For you shall burn For you shall never return Your heart can not depart the roses, you lay a bed Thorns shall ***** you but this is not your moment to cry This is not your moment to scream why For she is taking the steps you can not reach Reach for your despair, scream this just isn't fair But she shall not turn around Bury yourself deep in the ground For she is unleashing her round of the hounds
I was given a set of wings huge, strong and powerful but I've never used it to fly and soar and feel the breeze above the sun kissed sea with cotton candy clouds all around me never even tried never even dared
Sometimes I wonder wether these were given to me as a gift to cherish a blessing to own or a curse to carry a burden for all my life to bear
And I wonder what it would feel like to be free to fly like the others do if only I weren't too afraid to try too afraid to dare
I sometimes try to take a leap of faith but as soon as I reach the edge I feel the mighty wind I beheld the depth I see the drop I hear death I get nauseous I pull back I tuck my wings in and shut it nice and tight
Maybe what I need is something that would push me but it would be nicer if it would pull me taking me with it in the fall and teach me how to fly
"There will be pain tonight, an unbelievable amount of pain that not even the stars know as they supernova, that not even the earth knows as it's land is torn in two by quakes, that not even the sky knows as it is ripped apart by lightening. It is a pain that is unleashed from the very depths of the soul and leaves the thinnest traces of its mark on the exterior of the human body.
"It is a constant torrential downpour, a constant tsunami of grief; it is a pain that will be known by the most fearsome of men. It is a wrath that lashes its victims, leaving nothing in its remains."
I've written a thousand words that have trailed behind me for decades. If I attempted to turn around and pick them all up as if I'm collecting shells from a beachside, it would be wheelbarrows full.
Write. Just write Natasha. Quit attempting to perfect this gift and just let it unravel. Don't criticize, judge or feel Guilt over your need to shut away and bleed the thoughts that you're unable to speak onto paper.
Release the fear that captivates you. It's that uneasiness in knowing the pain that spills once I form these words into being readable and they sink into my heart and become truth. Truth equals pain for me.
It's the fear that this truth might just **** me. Is it possible to die of a broken heart, I often ask myself.
Battling this fear to write this novel is the one thing holding me back from healing.
Allowing my entire being to sink into it, and rage against the words as if I'm the flat of the ocean being ravished by the never ending waves.
Tossed and turned by the emotions that come with the process that forces you to heal.
It's the still, that resides between each word written, that quiet space that leaves me restless.
Calm the infuriation, unclench your teeth and let the words be written into reality.
My need to burst into a blood pumping release that lightens my heart from this heaviness is enough to shake the floor of the ocean.