Sometimes I make up
Entire histories in my brain.
And they are more real to me
Than most people.
Sometimes, I wonder what
It would be like if somebody
Around me died. Would I cry, or
Live in a frozen state of calm
Acceptance?
Sometimes, I get aches in
My chest, and I feel like the
World is caving in, and the
Emotional pain beings to have
Physical effects.
Sometimes, I blast out songs
I don't understand, and they heal
Me in mysterious ways.
Sometimes, I can take life too
Easily; me, who wished to live under
Thirty when I was thirteen. I still do.
Sometimes, I forget I am alive. I
Forget to comprehend how easy it is
To drown in things
That don't
Exist.
...
A personal poetry, if you will.
Definitely one of my worst works. It's too revealing, I believe.
-Afrah
YOU ARE READING
Hiraeth
PoetryHIRAETH- (n.) A homesickness for a place you can never return to, a place which never was. Previously: Songs Of My Lonely Soul. *** A Song Of My Lonely Soul. A Ballad Of My Heart Whole. A Story That Was Never Said. When We Find It To Be Dead. ...
