Posts Tagged ‘dark’

After March

Tuesday, April 4th, 2017

March is over now, and where are you? There’s a void, where the nightingale’s rose should be. & I’m just an ivory girl; a tear-soaked trail of feelings left behind me. I’m quivering, filled with the inability to forget (you). An undefined sadness, an almost-shadow hiding in the corner of my green-blue eyes. A constant reminder of how it hurts. To know. To feel. To remember.
How fragile we really are… (and yet how strong)
Am I disappearing in the background, or falling out of frame? The key is still missing, and all the doors are locked. The night devoid of stars, like a desolate veil, falls on my arms. And maybe one day, after everything, I won’t hesitate. Maybe one day I’ll believe. Maybe one day I’ll be free of Atlas’ weight.
Maybe today.
And the thing is I will always love you. Growing up I collected my dreams, stored them in mason jars. Today I set them free.
Today after days of stumbling upon the remains of a borrowed life, after battling with aphonia for four days, and after a funeral (a dose of denial, hidden behind a malfunctioning smile); today I set myself free, first day of spring, first day of something new. First day of everything.

The fight that never ends

Thursday, March 23rd, 2017

“Please stand up and fight

against the sickness deep inside

You are much too young to die
      – The Sickness, Terminal Choice

{This is for all the people out there, who are fighting (invisible,) chronic illnesses.}

Years and years lost; a black hole, an abyss, a never-ending eclipse. Dying at the hands of dark ghosts.
And I’m sorry, but I couldn’t be yours. I kept slipping away like sand, like rain, like confusion and sad poetry. I walked on the edge; drowned everything I could have been. I never blamed you though. For not saving me. You see, I couldn’t be yours. Because I was empty and bitter and afraid. I was so young, diagnosed with something so horrible. A life tainted with grief and pain and isolation. I was frightened by my own darkness.
Fire in my head, ocean in my lungs; couldn’t you just let me go? Ashes and silence. Falling tears – numbing snowflakes preserved on my skin. Take the pills, they say. But who’s going to take me home?
(How old do you think I am? Will I face the raven soon? Have I offended God? Do you really love me?)
• I don’t smoke, but I burn your cigarettes, when I’m alone. It’s comforting and hurtful at the same time.
• Winter’s over and visiting hours are over too. The roses in the vase will bloom and then turn to dust while I sleep.
• Do you know, that every star that shines out there knows your name? That every star-particle is a prayer for you?
• So many years gone. Take your pills, they say. But who’s going to take me home?
• Morning comes and we are still fighting the unending fight; because there is hope embedded in the sunrise, in the star-storms, in the soft sea-waves, in the nightingale’s love-song to the rose. There’s something beautiful abandoned and left to disappear in the dark creases of the day. But when I close my eyes sometimes I can see it. And it heals, more than any pill ever can. (Don’t give up. Just don’t give up.)