hurt

cycles

wounds heal.
they always heal.
and yet, i end up with more wounds.

more stings.

there are points in time where i think,
these persistent and petulant wasps are gone;

everything seems brighter.

i feel better.

and then it comes back.

the emptiness.
the doubt.  

the pain radiating pain in my empty chest.
the persistent feeling of dread,

nibbling at my mind

at my soul.

surrounded by wasps once more,
i question myself.
what is my purpose?
why am i here?
why am i so alone?

they're cruel,
the wasps.
they let me believe the delusion that i matter.that if i dropped dead, someone would care.
that i have made any positive impact on this horrible world.
then they let reality hit me.

i fall down, the ground collapsing around me

as i sink, deeper and deeper. 

and as i fall, they follow,
beating their little wings as fast as they can,

simply to take a sting at me.

i'm so numb,
so ugly and scarred,
from all the stings

from all the emotions.

why had the wasps chosen me?
it didn't matter now,

as my frail body was crumbling.

as i fell, deeper and deeper, into the innermost core

of simultaneous vacancy and encumbrance.

perhaps, i'd finally be warmly embraced
by the dark and endless arms of death.
perhaps, something good would finally happen.

but then, as i felt my body slow down,

i realised,
that it wouldn't be the end.

i'd land,
think i'd experienced my worst,

then very gradually start to feel better,

only for the same thing to occur again.

pain and joy
sorrow and euphoria

animosity and admiration

idealisation and devaluation

it switches and switches and switches

leaving me bruised

and battered

and empty.

empty empty empty empty

how can i be empty

and still feel this indescribable feeling?
how can i be empty

and manage to feel this overwhelming pain?

how can i be empty
and burst with joy

implode with anger

collapse in sorrow.
why am i so polarised?

when will these cycles end?