top of page

Skip to the Good Part

In this moment, my eyes are sunken. The delepetion from spirtlessness is very apparent.

Fragile to the touch, my bones ache and sore. I don't care about much anymore. I don't care if I eat, shower, or brush my teeth. As I tether to side of my bed I once claimed as peace. I don't move. I'd rather decay peice by peice.

Maybe I deserve this slient memorial? Maybe If I pray for an angel it'll seclude... i'd be a star gazing down instead, an extraterrestrial.

In this moment, My skin stitches too the fabric sheets of my bed and the slik of my pillow. A cloud over my head would be an understatement. Everyday its thundering. In this very vessel theres too much of nothing going on. Asking for help can cost you your pockets or your pride. Reaching out to friends could cost you your suffering or your pride.

But writing...called to surrender. Similar to death, you don't know the beginning or the end. But you'll be at peace until then. My moods are one with nature...Unorthodox. Not even my sharp intutiton can't prepare me for the clenching of my muscles or the spells of my brain or the rapid hope of my beating heart.

Graditiude is hard when your solidified in "fighting the good fight." I don't wanna be strong. I don't want to be brave. I want to be done trying.

I want to be forfilled and full of warm meals and laughter. I'm starving...and crying. "It's simple" they say, "Just be nicer, eat and change your ways." I don't care how much you've think you've healed along the way, you still have many dragons to yet face.

Birth feels like Death and Death feels like Birth.

I don't want to be held by the whipers of my anxiety. This shit isn't a choice?!

I've been spent more time creating scars than appericating this hope from my rapid beating heart.

Shes skip to the good part.


bottom of page