i am alive.
i am a mere brain, living in a broken down skeleton, with words begging to be let out; remaining with no way to put them.
i am a body of blood and skin, with over-delicate porcelain bones, and sometimes a sudden urge to just break them all. but, i suppose i can manage in this cruel and despicable world (of course, with a little help from people who care enough to read this whole passage (people like you.))
i am a human. i have brittle emotions with soggy tears and rose tinted cheeks. yet still, always remaining too washed out. my breath could be held, and my head could feel faint—but i'd always remain cold and crystallized.
i am a creature. i live on this widowed earth with too many ebony and ivory colored humans dying, and too many children lost too soon. yet, i still make it on with my life, like nothing ever seemed to happen, (i suppose all of us do.)
i am a sad body with foggy eyes and monochromatic dreams (most of which i can't remember); but still romantically haunting my daily motions. i wish i could pin point the pain, exactly.
i feel claustrophobic on this faded, grungy earth. and gosh, how i wish i could go live in some other distant part of the milky way, where the trees changed colors more slowly, and the oceans still felt pure and clean.
i'm crashing to the floor and spreading around every thought, move, and tear. but, i still managed to make it through the day, to go home, wash off my extra face, and lay down on a pair of stained baby blue blankets.
so, yes i am alive. sometimes (i guess you could say more than sometimes) against my will, but more so, enjoying the taste of the fresh, fall air and the chilling spikes of cold down my spine.
i feel this world is useless to live in anyway. but i can still manage on, (even if the world is evil, everyone i ever loved has left, and i sometimes still cry over widowed wives.)
and i, will be okay, (or at least i hope so).