The Familiarity Of Pain
I don’t write because I ‘like’ to
I do, I mean
but the memories whose door I dare to open again….
is something you do not write about
BUT I DO.
I do because without the agony there is no real me
I find peace in my torture
my anguish
my woe
my endless torment
~I write as the raw pain engulfs my insides while burning them with the same fire I burn through and the demons inside me start gnawing at the inhumanity of me
eating it all up like banshees
as my fingers bleed into the paper and my skin
forcing the crimson to surge out of the vessels
a pattern so lovely.~
I keep writing as the burden on my head
feels like a mountain
who is crushing me slowly
Steadily
into the ground while I keep trying
trying to stand
but it weighs my insanity
my lunacy.
I keep writing as I struggle to come up
while the weight of my past keeps pulling me down
and I struggle
for just a single gasp of air.
but the worst is when I keep writing
when my heart is exhausted from trying to come up
as I descend into the darkness of the sea
the dark all so familiar.
~I burned so much from the fire, that even the coldest of seas could not douse the torment growing inside of me~
the simplicity might seem uncanny to you
but for me, it’s the familiarity of pain
of abandonment
of exhaustion.
I live in it
no
I find solace in it.
and as the last of oxygen leaves my body
and nothing other than a void
of eternal pain is left of me
I keep drowning in it
because that pain at least
gives me a reason to exist.
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