I sighed again. Maybe it was the hundredth time that night, but I didn't really want to remember.
It felt like fire was engulfing my body. Even in such sudden heat and fear, I was able to shiver.
My words were keeping me awake. addiction. That was the right word, addiction. I had one. I was addicted to things. I became addicted rather easily.
I looked outside my window and see a sky grey. There was no sunshine in the night. I told myself.
My stupidity was getting the best of me. Yes, I did wake up at an ungodly time in the day. That sometimes made me never see the sun. Only sky greys as I said.
My hand showed me a tiny thing that I didn't even want to see. A capsule, spherical and purple was how it looked. It tasted bitter, like chocolate would taste, but the bad kind.
In times like this I went to write me issues. I suddenly became less aware somehow. I made my life into a fictional universe where it's no longer me that has the problems, but them. It's not twisted because they don't even breathe.
There's no sunshine
This impossible year
Only black days, and sky grey
And clouds full of fear
And storms full of sorrow that won't disappear
Just typhoons and monsoons
This impossible year
The words seemed fitting since sorrow washed over me like rain or a cloud. Nothing like that disappeared, it sticks until it happens too often and makes everything horrid.
There's no good times
This impossible year
Just a beachfront of bad blood
And a coast that's unclear
All the guests at the party
They're so insincere
They just intrude and exclude
This impossible year
When did I ever have a good time? Never. It's like I scared it away with my profound looks and insightful mind. Every person I met seemed to become like all the others. Insincere. They came into my life and then suddenly left. They always left me where I didn't have a standing point, it's was more of a desirable understanding. I never even understood. What did I do?
There's no you and me
This impossible year
Only heartache and heartbreak
And gin made of tears
The bitter pill I swallow
The scars souvenir
That tattoo, your last bruise
This impossible year
I wanted it. I didn't need it. I knew the difference between a want and need. I didn't need it, I needed me to be okay with certain outcomes. My medicine hated me. It was always seemed as the solution, but what happens when it's the conflict? I was such an impossible mess. I liked to think of my past events as battle scars. I may have actual scars from this, but burning your mind is much more terrifying. Every time I close my eyes I see an image replaying until I inflict another physical battle scar among myself. My tattoos. That was another name I like the give them. Calling them scars made me realize how mad I was.
There's never air to breathe
There's never in-betweens
These nightmares always hang on past the dream
I was suffocating in such a fatal sorrow, that I didn't see how toxic everything was getting. Maybe I did, but I just didn't notice over my small distant cries.
There's no sunshine
There's no you and me
There's no good times
This impossible year
