I want to write about how difficult it is to write about pain. It is in the articulation.
It is in the struggle to understand, especially when you're trying to understand alone. It is something else when you realise that it would be yours and yours alone. It is worse when... you are the cause of your wounds. And it is utterly devastating when you don't even know where the pain stems from.
I want to tell you about how sometimes, almost suddenly (but obviously not), I feel drained of life and brutally empty. About how annoying it is to tackle things you thought were gone. How I hate not being able to save sinking ships of those that matter to me. How I hate.
I want to tell you about how I could be the tide. About how I am always drawn towards pain... inevitably again, and again. I want to mention how I am a lighthouse and the sea is my grave.
I want to talk about how I feel
light, as in empty
Hollow, as in greedy
And so many things, as in shattering.
I would talk about how this place was a haven once upon a time. I would say a million things about how now is not the same.
I would, but I don't even know my name.
And yours also,
is lost to tidal waves.
20:43
06.12.22
YOU ARE READING
A Diary of Soul (Unedited Version)
PoetryKnow Thyself - Socrates Have you ever felt like a stranger to yourself? Like you're here, but lost? Just another performing mask in a sea of faces? Another wandering being made of dust? • Finding yourself and healing amidst dark moments of life i...
