Something stirs within my chest. Unexplainable, indefinable, yet present in an almost tangible way. I ache for the sweetness of new experience.
Emotion catches in my throat at the very thought of shy encounters. Cheeks flushed, hearts racing, hands shaking; risking everything for the chance of something more.
The empty space beside me longs to be filled with warmth and the sounds of whispered kisses and gentle exploration. Somewhere hidden beneath the mask of bravado and brass, is the desire to be desired.
To be loved.
Anger bubbles, soon to be quelled. Silent promises never honoured, keep your emotions to yourself.
Words unspoken, choking tongue and tasting bitter. Fists clenched, hold back, everything is fine.
Indulge. Pander. Pretend. Play the role, live the lie. No one cares to know, no one thinks to care.
Frustration leaves marks on the skin, half moon scars. Mustn’t be a burden. Listen, smile, leave welts in flesh. Bleed quietly.
Paste a grin, wear the mask. Don’t let them in.
“One day,” she said, “someone is going to look at you, and see all the things they ever hoped for. You won’t have to spend another night with Loneliness for your only companion, or crying silently in the dark where no one can see. One day, someone is going to choose you, and they will keep on choosing you, every single day thereafter. One day, my sweet child, you are going to be happy. Do not give up hope, nor resign yourself to bitterness. And remember that you are worth so much more than you think.”
I never say what I want to say. The words get stuck in my throat, and what comes out is not what I’m screaming inside my head. My lips are painted with the ghosts of a thousand whispered confessions, murmured to the night and lost in the nothing. Bravery would unleash those secret things and leave my throat unobstructed, but I have always been scared. Words are both weapons, and chains, and I am trapped by things left unsaid. I am small, and I was never meant to be a hero.
Teetering on the edge of “tear my hair out” frustration.
Hit with a severe case of no inspiration.
Sweating in heat, lack of precipitation.
I can’t even be bothered with masturbation.
There’s a holiday opinion dividing the nation.
Proving their points in mass demonstration.
Though all I can think, to my indignation, is
Long weekend, but no motivation.
I feel a lot of empty right now, kind of like a shell person. Not like, a crab or a lobster kind of shell. More like…a hollow husk of humanness.
Where did that girl go? The one that wasn’t so bitter and jaded? I’m sure she existed, once upon a time. I’ve lost her, though. And I think she’s so lost to me now, that there isn’t even a tiny hope of finding her. This is who I am now.
I hate what these years have made me. They have stolen so much. Left me with so little. And the worst part is, I’m not sure how to move forward. I’m a coward, see. And I am certain I will be stuck here until I die.
Happy little candle flame
Your light upon the walls like a dance
Of shadow and warmth
Beacon in the dark