Category: Writers Block
Here I am, I have lost my way. And all the things I loved and treasured. I can't pretend I'm not shattering, can't pretend I'm not coming apart. If you can see the way I fall then you can shut your eyes and smile, because there's no turning back. The pain burns through like fire and knives but I can block it out, becoming part of it, because it just doesn't matter anymore. It is a triviality, an obstcle in my path of thought easily wiped aside. My scars may show, broken open again and bleeding because the wounds inflicted for my own good just won't stay closed, and my life may spill out but I'm still standing, and the remains of twisted, exposed pieces of my life may lie scattered, but I'm still alive. If I don't keep my eyes open I'll die, simple as that. If I don't keep my head above the waves, I'll fade away, drowning in an ocean of blood and tears. Don't remember to forget me because I was little more than a link in the chain, but when I'm gone know my name.
Do I want to go back or do I not? I oegret my choice, but the question has no answer, and the missing links lie broken on the ground. I wear my scars under the layers of cloth where they can's be seen. Are they signs of weakness or of my endurance? I don't understand because I don't remember when I was broken and shattered, and exposed to the light. Shadows are my friends, insanity my companion, night my other half. I must be real before I can feel and I must feel before I can be alive, but I haven't felt human emotions for eight years...
Someone tell me I'm still alive. I can't tell and I don't know. I love life and disregard death because it must come to pass, but I fear what I leave behind. So tell me I'm alive... before it's too late.