— to others, nothing
but an empty vase
to be filled
with sorrows and
worries, when albeit
i am already brimming
Category Archives: Writing
— to others, nothing
Once again, instead of sleeping, I find myself wide awake; stuck in front of a blank page that is begging me to fill it with words, to paint a picture of the mess within. The voices, the screams – they all need to be heard, need to be written down, and yet I’m hesitating, still. Writing used to be what allowed me to go on, however as of late, words have been slipping through my mind like sand through fingers. The connection I’ve used to adore and fight for has left my heart and soul. Each word feels misplaced, wrong. I wish I could find an excuse, someone or something to accuse, but all there is left is my own reflection in the mirror.
spreading like wildfire,
set each fibre aflame.
engulfing my insides,
is suffocating me with shame.
BPD is killing me.
[Don’t touch me.]
rage, so violent
[Don’t come close to me.]
hatred, seething through these veins
[Don’t talk to me.]
bitterness, too venomous to ignore
[Don’t be here.]
are running through my pores, sticking to my skin –
[Don’t touch me. Don’t come close. Don’t talk. Don’t be.]
leaving a trail of
behind. If only tearing
my body apart,
exposing these insides
helped for more than mere minutes.
Yet these minutes
are keeping me alive.
Misery is filling the air around me, my lungs inhaling it, slowly, but steadily.
It’s a usual night, quiet, yet not peaceful; dry, yet too warm to be able to breathe easily. As I’m writing these words, darkness has started settling over the horizon, leaving nothing but a pitch black view and an inkling of gloom. If I were to get up, the tiny window would allow me to see my wretched reflection; a mirror of who I am, say others, while a lie is all I can observe.
What is it like to know who you are?
To not constantly question your entire being, to feel like something else but a heart that has been shattered over and over again, a soul that is beyond repair, broken and incomplete — without hope?
I don’t know.
Demons are constantly whispering into my ears, living inside of me, taking up every inch. There’s no more space for “me”, whoever that may be; perhaps there never was.
And even when I try to reach out, to fight, to find myself, peace, sanity, — comfort, there is still nothing to hold on to.
There’s only darkness.
(I am alone. I am no one. I am nothing.)
Perhaps Death would be a kinder companion.
Getting out of bed is too much, pretending to smile is taking all I have.
I’m tired of walking and climbing through this life when my steps feel like nothing, but exhaustion. Why do I have to keep trying? I’ve died a long time ago, and this human shell of mine is impatiently waiting for its final resting place.
Your skin on mine is the only touch I don’t mind. While I run from others’, I crave yours.
Hold my hand, I want to walk through the night with you; dance along to the melody you are humming. There are no analogies that could fit your handsome smile, no amount of colours that could reflect the warmth you radiate.
If home is where the heart is, then I’m nowhere near it;
too far away is the one that keeps it safe.
Though even if you were right next to me,
I’d still wish for your hand to join mine.
a perfect match,
only two pieces – a small
puzzle, yet complete.
you + me,
that‘s all I need.
I‘m aching for your touch; these bones within are struggling to keep up, wishing for this icy exterior to melt. Your love is my warmth, it is the only key you need.
In your arms,
it’s as simple as that,
I am at peace.
In your heart,
is where I belong.
I am not what you need,
but darkness, a mere rain cloud.
Used to be called sunshine,
but even that had to end some time.
I am not what you need,
but an anchor pulling you down.
Wished I could be an angel, if only
for you, yet this demon cannot fly.
I am not what you need, but my
I wish I was, wish I could be.
Still I fear that as much as I’d love
to be your happiness, I am not.
I am not what you need, but I am
not for long, not forever. My life’s
curtain is falling
Years of fighting,
still not enough.
Nights spend bleeding,
this life’s tough.
Demons in these minds,
tearing us apart.
People are watching,
thinking it’s art.
Pain’s not fascinating
despite words of charm.
These bruises not pretty,
just hell’s way of harm.
Don’t turn away,
when darkness appears,
these are our lives,
these are our fears.
because inside of me I’m constantly fighting,
against the demons in my head.
While they are grinning,
tears are running down my face.
because their screaming is louder than my
for help; I am trapped, alone.
Poison is running through my veins,
my reflection is distorted.
because the darkness is me, and I am
of tainting you with my touch.
It is only a matter of time
until I have lost my worth.