The night in me
... The night in me...
(based on depression)
This is a long one.
I’ve cried and sobbed, drenching the dark cold nights. The salt water, trailing down my naked eyes. Wind alone rubbing my back and rapping my shaking cold hands while the silence sings me unheard and unappreciated lullabies.
Slicing the flesh atop my veins, killing the green serpents slithering its way. These lacerations on my wrists cater my fears; make me feel cold with unbearable burns. Leaving prominent scars with unnoticeable pain and red ink sliding down my weak yet bold wrist.
I’m living a life, but I’m already dead. I’m breathing less air more pain and fear. My shattered self can be further crushed, just by bullets shot by unsealed lips. Would it stop? If they knew my condition. No, it won’t, guess I’m the tribulation.
My words being corrosive by the acid lingering in my mouth. My eyes throwing gloom although they're rinsed by my tears almost every hour. I’ve tasted sour, such that no one has. No one can! It’s a feeling not a story so it’s hard to narrate or understand.
My tears taste more salty than they did a night ago, each day makes me toxic, more bitter, more cold. I could stir myself and gulp me down if death was my intension, that’s how poisonous I am, such is my condition.
My life twirled into question marks challenging me to give up, on them my blood got dark red saying ‘its wine now sip it up’. The dark seemed to scare me but now the light does too. I’m feeling so strange, so nothing like I should.
Smiling makes me weak and frowns so familiar. I hate to be sweet and have bitter brimmed in me. I’m sorry, but I haven’t done so wrong. I don’t deserve to be in me all along.
I don’t deserve to be in me all alone.
The night I feared and the mysterious dark, turns out was my protector, avoiding the reflecting blue from the gloomy sad part. It took ticks of a clock hand to tell me I was afraid, if not the night or the fading light but of my thoughts and of thinking more wrong, less right.
The blood I bleed is the blood I own and has no right to cause me pain and gore, the cold is my friend and so was bitter. It wasn’t this place it was what I built within these walls that should have demolished.
The cuts on my wrist catered my fears. Not fear of death but loosing what's here. The bitter that brimmed my very self, were my thoughts and the vulnerability. Since, I stood up they all left and the light invaded the night I kept.
The night didn't engulf me, it absorbed me. It lied within, no more however.
I'm stronger than I ever was, more understanding, more cared. I love myself more than anyone and cherish my life here.
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