flesh object
Bread
- Feb 15, 2023
- 40
Living a life worth living for, or dying for. I dance on the line between life and death, I know my destiny is death.
Living life, experiencing life is like being a bird, watching everyone else fly away while remaining static. I watched people die, I've watched people fade from my life. I've experienced time, just as everyone has. I watched people going through high school, being accepted to into a university. The clock ticks differently for me—its hands are slow and heavy, like they're dragging all the weight I carry. While others move forward, I remain static to the shadows of my past, wings clipped by grief. It seems like the only time passes, is when I smoke a cigarette. I see moments in which others experience without the pain and grief that stains my own, to laugh without the weight of tragedy. I see, and I hear that it is okay to be broken, to feel pain and grief; however, that is all I feel. It is everything to me.
Experiencing fun and joy, to attend a concert and to feel free / while every experience I feel, I know it will end. To appreciate something beautiful, one day it will wither and decompose, to hold a hand, knowing that one day it's destiny is the morgue. To listen to voices, knowing that I do not have one. The pain and weight lodged in my throat will never be swallowed to be expressed. My family in which experienced the same tragedy as me, all have repressed and forgotten, or have fractured memories that they cannot fully remember, once I die, all will be lost and forgotten. I hurt in ways that others cant see. I look into my living room, and I see the corpse which was once there. I hold onto everything, even moments in which I cannot carry. It seems like the weights have become my dreams, skin, organs, eyes, mouth, scars, and blood. it is drowning me, and I cannot let go as it has become me. I am running from my own shadow and my own reflection. I cannot fly like others around me, because I am a flightless bird. I stand, I sit, and I lay down and suffocate, to drown in my own weights that I wear, that I am.
Every moment, every decision, every gain and loss is all to mitigate pain and regret, it has always affected by the past. I look outside, I see experiences without being a mitigation of the past. The effort, the care, the tears, and calluses that I have are all from trying. People wish, pray, to yearn for more, while I only wish for different. I wish to not be afraid, to love without grief, to laugh without blood., to smile without pain. I wish for the support, and the people that I needed, the hug in which I never gave, for the stains from feeling a corpses touch to disappear.
I was softly placed into my mothers hands by doctors. I inherited the same smile, the same facial features by those who have hurt me. The life was ripped away from me as I was ripped from the womb. The path of tragedy and grief was set. People idolize the love and care from parents, and I was met with a fist and disappointment. I was young, I never meant to hurt anyone. People say, that it is okay to be young and stupid. Life is empty, yet so full. I became a person that I never wanted to be, the threats in which have hurt me, has turned my hands rough. I tried to hold myself up before I was even able to. The aspects in which I hate, have become me. I live and consciously and subconsciously tortured by my mind. I don't remember the last week, I don't remember the last year, but I remember how the pain felt from the past. The habits, patterns, and routines are all mitigations of pain.
I destroy, because it is all I know. I thought I was protecting the things that matter. I did not report or see anything as wrong. I allowed everything to happen to me because I thought I was just protecting my family. The same love - turns into a pain that consumes me. To hug a soft object and expect comfort, and I am met with an object that feels like a cold dying dog with stretchy skin. I hear sounds that stimulate my fight or flight response. I experience things that are not even real. I don't know what I have become.
I lose people, I lose memories, I lose the will to live and hidden by all the piles of grief in my mind. I look for things, people, moments, experiences, and memories close to my chest, because mine is empty. I look for comfort in my mother's arms, though her arms are empty and she is looking for that too. The unbearable grief, provides comfort, it reminds me of every loss, every failure, every unspoken word. It is the air I breathe. because that is all I know. The unacceptable to others, are acceptable to me - because that is all there is to accept.
I don't have an identity, just an amalgamation of things that I love and hate, the people that cared for me, and those who hurt me. I don't know who I am, because my identity was forged by unconditional suffering. I break my bones, and contort to fit someone - something else that needs me. I am the flesh that loves and hates. I am running from everything, even myself. I left things behind, only to have it haunt me from the inside. I will never feel okay, but do I deserve it? I leave claw marks on the things I love, because I cannot endure the weight of my life.
Others can fly, and it is tragic that I cannot.
How much had to go right for them to be capable of flight / How much had to go wrong for me to be incapable of flight.
The courage to learn and grow / The courage to cope and destroy.
The leap of faith to love, to find happiness in the unknown / The leap off of a building for everything to possibly end.
There is so much wrong, and yet it seems like it is only right. This is perfect.
Living life, experiencing life is like being a bird, watching everyone else fly away while remaining static. I watched people die, I've watched people fade from my life. I've experienced time, just as everyone has. I watched people going through high school, being accepted to into a university. The clock ticks differently for me—its hands are slow and heavy, like they're dragging all the weight I carry. While others move forward, I remain static to the shadows of my past, wings clipped by grief. It seems like the only time passes, is when I smoke a cigarette. I see moments in which others experience without the pain and grief that stains my own, to laugh without the weight of tragedy. I see, and I hear that it is okay to be broken, to feel pain and grief; however, that is all I feel. It is everything to me.
Experiencing fun and joy, to attend a concert and to feel free / while every experience I feel, I know it will end. To appreciate something beautiful, one day it will wither and decompose, to hold a hand, knowing that one day it's destiny is the morgue. To listen to voices, knowing that I do not have one. The pain and weight lodged in my throat will never be swallowed to be expressed. My family in which experienced the same tragedy as me, all have repressed and forgotten, or have fractured memories that they cannot fully remember, once I die, all will be lost and forgotten. I hurt in ways that others cant see. I look into my living room, and I see the corpse which was once there. I hold onto everything, even moments in which I cannot carry. It seems like the weights have become my dreams, skin, organs, eyes, mouth, scars, and blood. it is drowning me, and I cannot let go as it has become me. I am running from my own shadow and my own reflection. I cannot fly like others around me, because I am a flightless bird. I stand, I sit, and I lay down and suffocate, to drown in my own weights that I wear, that I am.
Every moment, every decision, every gain and loss is all to mitigate pain and regret, it has always affected by the past. I look outside, I see experiences without being a mitigation of the past. The effort, the care, the tears, and calluses that I have are all from trying. People wish, pray, to yearn for more, while I only wish for different. I wish to not be afraid, to love without grief, to laugh without blood., to smile without pain. I wish for the support, and the people that I needed, the hug in which I never gave, for the stains from feeling a corpses touch to disappear.
I was softly placed into my mothers hands by doctors. I inherited the same smile, the same facial features by those who have hurt me. The life was ripped away from me as I was ripped from the womb. The path of tragedy and grief was set. People idolize the love and care from parents, and I was met with a fist and disappointment. I was young, I never meant to hurt anyone. People say, that it is okay to be young and stupid. Life is empty, yet so full. I became a person that I never wanted to be, the threats in which have hurt me, has turned my hands rough. I tried to hold myself up before I was even able to. The aspects in which I hate, have become me. I live and consciously and subconsciously tortured by my mind. I don't remember the last week, I don't remember the last year, but I remember how the pain felt from the past. The habits, patterns, and routines are all mitigations of pain.
I destroy, because it is all I know. I thought I was protecting the things that matter. I did not report or see anything as wrong. I allowed everything to happen to me because I thought I was just protecting my family. The same love - turns into a pain that consumes me. To hug a soft object and expect comfort, and I am met with an object that feels like a cold dying dog with stretchy skin. I hear sounds that stimulate my fight or flight response. I experience things that are not even real. I don't know what I have become.
I lose people, I lose memories, I lose the will to live and hidden by all the piles of grief in my mind. I look for things, people, moments, experiences, and memories close to my chest, because mine is empty. I look for comfort in my mother's arms, though her arms are empty and she is looking for that too. The unbearable grief, provides comfort, it reminds me of every loss, every failure, every unspoken word. It is the air I breathe. because that is all I know. The unacceptable to others, are acceptable to me - because that is all there is to accept.
I don't have an identity, just an amalgamation of things that I love and hate, the people that cared for me, and those who hurt me. I don't know who I am, because my identity was forged by unconditional suffering. I break my bones, and contort to fit someone - something else that needs me. I am the flesh that loves and hates. I am running from everything, even myself. I left things behind, only to have it haunt me from the inside. I will never feel okay, but do I deserve it? I leave claw marks on the things I love, because I cannot endure the weight of my life.
Others can fly, and it is tragic that I cannot.
How much had to go right for them to be capable of flight / How much had to go wrong for me to be incapable of flight.
The courage to learn and grow / The courage to cope and destroy.
The leap of faith to love, to find happiness in the unknown / The leap off of a building for everything to possibly end.
There is so much wrong, and yet it seems like it is only right. This is perfect.
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