Loneliness. I’m attached to it the same way an apple is attached to the branch of a tree. Deeply rooted in soil as dead as the inner-child left dangling inside of me. Yet, Still. I’m watered by an entity I can’t see. All I see is darkness while wobbling to its breath every time It breathes. In, And, Out, Until I fall off and roll far enough to detach myself from history, I wish I wasn’t apart of…
But, What choice do I have regarding a book writing itself by every step we take? A book we don’t read as often as we should. Or… Maybe, I do every time I look back at a past I try my best to paint over… Because, I can’t read into a future no one can abscond from. A future holding everybody hostage until we’re freed by the acceptance of its inevitability. All I can do is watch for debris, On a trail I walk alone, Willingly…
Who am I kidding? Being around others is as awkward as living. The same way I’ve been ripped from the arms of who created my existence, I feel more joy when staying distant from the thought of existing…
I’m neither alive, Dead, Awake, Nor asleep. I’m a wanderer with eyes as red as the sea, My wounds drip into, As I attempt to save anyone from swimming in an ocean I’ve seen, Everybody I’ve known drown in…
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