TBH
By Dana Young
To be honest I'm not where I want to be. Yet not where I used to be. It's all new to me. I'm a shell of my former shell. I'm feeling destroyed. Trapped in mental hell.
The mental jail I'm in has no escape. I've sealed my fate with past mistakes. With no way to leave my mind and find the right direction. With fear I approach the steps. Not yet ready to climb from fear of the unknown and known and I feel like I'm pressed for time.
Left for dead. But walking. A zombie with no desire for brains. Just a clear mind and a whole heart. A new day and a fresh start.
A new me that's not restricted that healed from wounds that are self inflicted.
Guilt and pain, approval addiction, disorders and everything that plagued me and haunts me still
Following me endlessly, desperate to feel... something.
Other than. This numbing nothing
Other than this crushing something
Other than this nowhere setting
Other than my mind forgetting
How to heal and how to feel.
How to separate the false and real.
To bring to life what died and awaken the dormant.
To rid me of these demons that continue to torment.
That strip away layers at a time in an effort to reach and keep my mind
To make me think I'm doing fine I'm intentionally blind
Not wanting to experience the real feelings that I submerged in the ocean of tears that I shed for years as I bled
Blue blood for the sorrow has stolen the red.
I scream for the peace that I seek but have yet to release.
I have yet to speak life.
I walk in my sleep.
Slumber so deep that It seems even God can't reach…
Me.
