Poetry

Self-titled

I relate all my life events to a cold war about to break out in my paradise, a paradise that seems to fade as I get older.

No one can ever prepare you for the viscous world that lies out there. For an introvert like me; imprinting is crucial for my survival, the thought of not having someone there gives me the creeps.

Today I lay in my bed, telling my own story in the first person. My author always shares my story in the third person; imprinting an image of me in your brains, making it easier for your to ingest my person.

I’m just a being with many titles stuck on me by peers, family, society, so many that I do not even not who and what I am anymore. Depression seems to be my daily bread; fed to me by those around me, toxic poison my body seems to have become quite fond of.

My life is simple, not too exciting nor tedious, but within this life, lives another waiting to blossom when spring finally arrives. Stuck in this eternal winter, my heart loses a piece as the night falls.

I’m just another being unable to express what really goes on inside, afraid to be once again burnt at the hand of those who my heart chose to trust over and over again…

 

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