Loneliness is like a prison. You feel captured and you want nothing but to runaway from it. Darkness consumes you and thoughts of death becomes comforting in the most relieving way. Even if you are too feeble to actually do away with yourself, one can still dream cant they?
The freedom of happiness looks like a hopeless wish. Its like looking in through a glass shield, you on one side and everyone else on the other. Every person around you seem to have joy eating them from the fucking inside out…looks painful. But no matter how painful it appears to be its nothing compared to the pain of being lonely. Who wants to be happy anyways? Its overrated and now a days its artificial anyways. But who am I fooling, I want to be happy, even if it is fake.
However, if you do ever find escape from your prison the feeling is mind boggling. Its like you’ve been born again and you have a fresh start. You have found someone or something that brings a reason for you to live again. They brought you the key of love and it is now beating through your body, but this is also something new there in place of that loneliness. Its a sensation that follows and have a tight hold on you. Its terror.
Fear that one day loneliness would come and find you again putting you back in to that dark, isolated prison. That is worst than simple loneliness itself. To have found and tasted freedom then to have it snatched away from you. It hurts like a bitch. So now not only are you back in that fucking prison there are chains holding you down to the floor.
Its subtle but when your first thrown back in to solitude you don’t realize it at first. However, slowly but surely you start falling into the alienated pattern of life you once was so accustom to. It happens and one day you find that you are now stuck in a drift of seclusion.
Once again your empty, lonely, and lost you want to die but the past wont let you. So now your back at the beginning but now the feeling is worst. For now you have the bitter sweetness of having haunting memories to keep you company, but now you have haunting memories to keep you company.
“We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone.”
Orson Welles
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Friday, August 5, 2011
Letter #214
YOU.
You. Yes, you. I am writing this for you.
I know you are reading this. And I want you to know I am writing this for you. No one else will understand. No one else knows. They think that this is for them. But it’s not. I am writing this for you.
I want you to know, life…it’s hard. Every day can be a challenge. It can be a challenge to get up in the morning. To get yourself out of bed. To put on that smile. But I want you to know, that smile is what keeps me going some days. You need to remember, even through the tough times, you are amazing. You really are.
You should be happy. You are gorgeous.
I know that the weather might not be perfect. You might have to turn your back to the wind or feel the cold nipping at your nose. But you know what, at least you are there to feel it. At least you can enjoy the sun’s warm rays on your face. Or that cold February wind biting at your cheeks. You know what that means?
You are alive.
Everything will be okay.
~ Letters I'll Never Send ~
You. Yes, you. I am writing this for you.
I know you are reading this. And I want you to know I am writing this for you. No one else will understand. No one else knows. They think that this is for them. But it’s not. I am writing this for you.
I want you to know, life…it’s hard. Every day can be a challenge. It can be a challenge to get up in the morning. To get yourself out of bed. To put on that smile. But I want you to know, that smile is what keeps me going some days. You need to remember, even through the tough times, you are amazing. You really are.
You should be happy. You are gorgeous.
I know that the weather might not be perfect. You might have to turn your back to the wind or feel the cold nipping at your nose. But you know what, at least you are there to feel it. At least you can enjoy the sun’s warm rays on your face. Or that cold February wind biting at your cheeks. You know what that means?
You are alive.
Everything will be okay.
~ Letters I'll Never Send ~
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Smoking moon
The man in the moon is awake
And he is tired. Taking the blame for the lonely nights. Fading, expanding. Burning in his chest wont let him sleep. Inhaling the clouds and letting the smoke carry him away.
And he is tired. Taking the blame for the lonely nights. Fading, expanding. Burning in his chest wont let him sleep. Inhaling the clouds and letting the smoke carry him away.
Monday, August 1, 2011
A dark exchange.
Sunlight over me no matter what I do. My heart is being burned from Within my chest. No longer protected, no longer being held warmly in your palms and kissed softly with your poetry. Everyone holds flashlights that reveals my burnt spots. I try to block. Sunlight finds me no matter where I go.
Where ever you are, do you think of me? As I think of you. Are your hands cold and dark from where my heart once were? shadows that used to hide us from the world, are my shadows I can't seem to find. I want them back, damnit please. The sunlight hurts my eyes and burns my heart and leaves dry spots on my skin.. Give me back, give me back, give me back...my darkness.
Where ever you are, do you think of me? As I think of you. Are your hands cold and dark from where my heart once were? shadows that used to hide us from the world, are my shadows I can't seem to find. I want them back, damnit please. The sunlight hurts my eyes and burns my heart and leaves dry spots on my skin.. Give me back, give me back, give me back...my darkness.