Preface
Preface
Teardrops.
Tears, I find most annoying, the only way the body wants to respond to such a situation. We cry when we're sad, when angry, or when confused. Even when we're happy.
But today I am not happy.
That much I know. I don't how to call how I feel, but I know it's not happy. Inwardly, is an indistinguishable, sludging, mixture of emotions.
Much like a painter assaulting his paints onto a canvas; the colors drip and bleed. They swallow each other, mixing and dripping into one another. Then, all that is left is an ugly blackness after the artist is done.
The artist so long gone he doesn't know what misery he's left his viewers, or the imprint that is does to the soul. Maybe this blackened canvas’ impression on my mind is what caused this invading desperation. Black to me, was always symbolic.
Always indicative of two roads, two ways, two clear streets. It could be beautiful, yet some find it a terror.
Timing? Perhaps that’s the reason. Maybe timing is what it all comes down to ; how we perceive such a view.
It leaves a pain as dark as a shadow. An ever-looming haunting, that I haven't discovered how to shake. Today of all, it haunts a little closer. Close like a whisper, close like a friend hugging you, ever-buzzing against you like hushed-breath. An incessant buzzing, that leaves only confusion.
The questions of the 'how'. Mainly, of the 'why'. And the annoyance of no satisfying answer. All of the darkened feelings only express themselves in one terrible way.
Tears.
Black Tears.
The only tears I seem to cry.
--- Journal Entry , Isaiah Jones
Thank you so much for reading! Re-releasing "Crying Black Tears" has been a journey! Please share your feedback! See you Behind the page <3! - Jazell
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I can’t help but imagine how chilling a voiceover of this monologue would sound 🥶.
This is already written really well