The time of sorrow is nigh, spring turn into summer, summer turns autumnal. Finally, winter is here, marks the end of a cycle. Truly, it is the end of an era. The flaky ice chips chilling my bones down my spine. For all that lives, shall meet their ends.
Have you ever felt like you does not belong? Like there is an empty crater in your soul and no matter how much you tried filling it, it just will not filled. It is like trying to gasp for a slither of air deep in the sea of time; with current running through you and, hitting you up like a frozen river.
All those feeling just kept on coming, despite of your drowning. You can feel people's disappointment around you and no matter how or what you did nothing really matters? Your eyes tried to cry your saddest tear but there is nothing coming out. Almost like, there is a chain around your soul binding and holding you stiff, unfeeling.
Burdened.
Loneliness.
Every time I blinked, these glistening sharp knives feels a little closer. Music began to lose their tunes and lyrics became meaningless. Food became nonessential, sleep came easy and every single time, dreams are getting harder to wake up from. Thus making sleep my new prison.
Everyone kept saying "time will heal everything" or "that is just part of growing up", well that is a load of bull crap.
ВЫ ЧИТАЕТЕ
MASCARADA
Художественная прозаThis is the dialogue that happened in my head. Some are truth, most are aberrations, and nothing was an exaggeration. MASCARADA is the epitome of my theater that never got a chance to come to light. So please, enjoy.
