There’s more to life now
I’m experiencing more
and I hate to sound so positive
I truly do
but it’s true
the world is starting to feel fresh
a naive foetus breathing for the first time
there’s a thirst within me
one I cannot contain
it comes out in moments of happiness
moments of pain
and it will not rest
not until I take my final breath.
I am content
I am content
I am content.
whoever I’m meant to be writing to
this is far too confusing for me to try and understand
they say I’m ill
I feel healthy
it’s a constant tug of war between my dreams and my reality
I can’t decide who should win
who deserves to win
but…anyway, was what I saying?
I’m writing again
brushing the dust off the page
in the hope the words haven’t faded.
Who am I kidding?
I’m just as useless as before
except I’m full of fake confidence.
I preferred it when I was addicted to drugs
dependant on chemicals
dependant on a sensation
a fool alive in the dying world.
I miss it
I hate who I’ve become
I hate who I was
can I just shut up
sew my mouth
close the curtains
lock the doors
write a letter to the world
explaining my absence
why I’ve run
there really isn’t much left to say
I don’t know why I bothered
no one’s patient enough to read
or bored enough to analyse
these words rest.
Empty pages bleed
as whoever I’m meant to be writing to
closes their eyes and sleeps.
quit it all
and my verses have worsened
my head aches
and my soul pangs for a pinch of some-sort of excitement.
What a mess.
I’m getting better
I tell myself; I’m getting better you know
I’m getting better-
lies, I’ve never been able to stop
once I start
and nothing ends
so, quitting, it felt like the easiest option
to run away from the stress
once they’re out of view, it’s as though they never existed
content in the knowledge I’m no longer at war with myself.
I can’t remember a time in my life
where I’ve felt extreme happiness or excitement
or felt as if my breath held purpose
I wouldn’t call myself depressed
I would call myself a realist.
The truth burns a hole into the back of my skull
I cannot ignore it
and why would I?
Enjoyment comes from freedom
freedom comes from enjoyment
and I’ve experienced neither.
The music flows through me; hands to veins to blood to head to heart to-
allow sound to speak
voices to silence
I wish I never had to make a single noise
breath hollow in my chest
as the piano plays on
in my head and in my heart and in my blood and in my veins
I give myself fully
expecting nothing in return.
There’s something brewing in the depths of my soul
my soul’s burning
happiness. I feel happiness coursing through my veins
is this real?
Reality doesn’t seem to cross my mind
but when it does, it’s here for a great amount of time
I’m in shock
only yesterday was I planning on ending my life
now life, it’s starting
who’s dream am I stuck in?
What sick joke? I hate to be the punchline.
Things, they’re looking up, down but up nonetheless.
I can’t keep up
my pace is slowing
but not I
why is that?