white lies are nothing but double-edged swords at my throat,
bejewelled with extravagant truths, weaved within black lies.
snakes curling around my forearm, metal pierced in my skin upon my brow,
heart swell with bitter, wet anger, and eyes bubbling with hurt.
nightmares seem to exist in both realms,
to be awake and to sleep are both curses.
there are lurking shadows in the corner of my eyes, soft voices uttering demeaning things,
like metal nails pricking my skin, letting the blood fall to the floor.
tomorrow i must wake when the sun rises,
tonight i must get through the dark night.
to survive is the end goal, and welcome death in his warm embrace.
to live is a choice, her voice is sweet, but i begin to favor the savory.
there is a thick cloud of grey above my head as i get out of bed,
and sit in an empty classroom, watching the clock tick away.
and it feels like the paint is curling off of the walls, and turning to dust.
and it seems i am in a trap inside my mind, with the minutes waning by,
the flame flickering will soon come to an end, and i eagerly wait for it.
a familiar booming voice is heard, and i open my eyes,
class has ended.
"ezra, you've been brilliant with your studies, but you seem very down in class,
is there anything you'd like to talk about? my doors are always open," he spoke.
"of course"
and now one might wonder, many have asked if i wanted to talk to them,
yet i do, and i only hear certain words hit me with a wave of realization.
"how ungrateful, your parents did so much and you don't want to exist?"
"i don't understand, you don't want to live because you think it's a waste of time?"
"so, you don't self-harm? is this an act of attention seeking?"
"if you really wanted to kill yourself, you would've attempted, but you haven't. coward."
to feel heavy and dizzy, i am ungrateful of this life, i do not understand others,
. i am attention seeking, and i am a coward for not killing myself,
yet i would be a coward for killing myself.
either way, it is futile to talk to others if they have not slipped into the cold,
hollow soul of mine.
- a waste of time
YOU ARE READING
growing wings | Completed
Poetry❝my freedom was at the cost of my sanity❞ how far would you go to earn your freedom, if it meant stripping away your happiness and losing your mind. freedom does not mean liberat...
