Light hurts. After eyes have been so accustomed to the dark, anything hopeful scares the hell out of me. False determination crumples under the weight of the reality that keeps screaming how final your departure is. As final as death. As final as sunset. I gasp for air, drowning under the ocean of your memories that choke me and keep me from dying at the same time.
Yet- naively, quite knowingly I let the parasite grow, sucking the life out of me. This parasite, stitched to the back of my skull in a painful pattern feeds on my happiness till I am left to stare into the void, unable to create a happy memory anymore.
Darkness seeps into whatever I write.
Pages I write singe at the edges.
Black ink stains the pages like thick blood- sicksweet and sinful.
This blue-green grotesque vein at the back of my hand pulses threateningly as my fingers trace words on reluctant paper.
Pages I write singe at the edges.
Black ink stains the pages like thick blood- sicksweet and sinful.
This blue-green grotesque vein at the back of my hand pulses threateningly as my fingers trace words on reluctant paper.
People read and say, 'Beautiful!'
