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September 18, 2018
I write and write and write and write.
My hand begs for rest.
No more ink—blood shall be my ink.
my body shattering with every single word?, Is this a curse
Every second, weeks, months, years—can I handle it?
My soul begs to wander in the never-ending realm of the dead.
Am I alive or dreaming?
No... I’m lost in this cycle of writing words I don’t recognize,
Thoughts that aren’t mine, feelings I’ve never felt,
Time wasted on a journal that confines me.
I can’t breathe, I can’t eat, I’m angry.
I want to escape, but where would I go? What would I do?
I have no friends, no family, no name. What am I?
I can’t talk, only think about how others would feel.
Am I different from the others? Are we the same?
Have i escaped? Was I left behind?
Who am I? My soul questions me every day,
A repeated question, never-ending curiosity.
Is it my soul or my delusions? What is the word delusion?
I’m losing my memories, every second.
What is a word? What is what? What is "is"?
I don’t know anything, as if someone’s manipulating my body.
Am I a doll? What is this place? What is this world?
What am I? A monster? I don’t know.
I can’t— I don’t know.
I think and think and think.
I can’t move my body.
Please, I ask for help. Anyone, lend me a hand out of this abyss.
Dear reader, who am I? Who are you?
Comments
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TOMIE˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚🍉
This is so beautiful yet sadly relatable
Thank youu!!!!
by Marc; ; Report
You're welcome !! :D BTW you are so talented !!
by TOMIE˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚🍉; ; Report
THANK YOUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
by Marc; ; Report
Itwaswritten.in.blood
ABSOLUTELY in love with your writing
im glad you love my writing , I appreciate it!
by Marc; ; Report