Zozo's

my beloved, take me into your arms while I unravel in your quiet, this life of guilt and salt-stained breath has little left to hold, except the moment your warmth bleaches the grey from my bones. I ache. I yearn. I beg. let your brightness swallow my shadow, let your holiness slip beneath my skin until the weight of this flesh loosens and the hurt stops naming me. love me gently, with the patience of something eternal. kiss the tremor out of my mouth, drink my tears like confession, and rinse the ache from my trembling ribs. I ache for you. I yearn for you. I beg for you. not as a saint, not as salvation, but as the only tenderness left that I still know how to believe in.

I had a dream where I got depressed again. depressed to the point where I spiralled out of control, and, as expected, everyone ostracised me for it. I dreamt of being sidelined, rejected, as though my illness were an inconvenience they had finally grown tired of tolerating. In the dream, I lied to escape things, and people called me out for it. They said not to use my illness as an excuse. The suffocation came back. The exhaustion I know too well returned, wrapping itself around me like an old enemy. When I woke up, I felt more tired than before I slept. Sometimes, it’s hard to distinguish my reality from my fantasies not that my fantasies contain rainbows or unicorns. They are filled with scorn and rejection, a mirror-world where my fears thrive even when nothing real has happened. Sometimes, I think I shouldn’t have been born at all that I should have died inside my mother’s womb. A harsh thought. A selfish one, perhaps. But it comes, uninvited. I miss the little girl I once was the ...

domain of escapade  the trickery of loki  going under the pretense of a peaceful stream  i hold ye in my arms and close to my heart you clung to me as i got breathless  you suffocate me you hurt me, my love.  you plunge your knife into my chest further the more i bled, the more you smile my pain becomes your happiness everything becomes grey and I lose my senses  am i catastrophising again?  alas, my greatest love it hurts.. as the knife plunges even further into my bleeding chest  i held my last breath as I scream inwards  "i hope to see you in hell" 

hey there, why do you do this to yourself?  why would you throw yourself out and act the fool?  i ought to scald you  i ought to scratch you  keep fucking up. i dare you. keep fucking up.  but why.... why.... why...would you do this to yourself?  have you no grace for yourself?  have you no shame? love yourself more...please smile by yourself more  why are always so lonely?  is your loneliness infectious? why do you spread your disease like a vermin you pest. colour yourself brown because that's what you ought to be  a nobody.  please... please... be nice to me be kind to me be good to me why can't people just be kind??? why is the world such a horrible place? i ought to burn you to death  i ought to torture you until you feel every inch of pain I have felt all my life. but...please be kind to me. please be kind. even if I'm not worthy.

  I saw my life where I’m rid of smoking I saw my life where I’m rid of pain I saw my life where I’m rid of sorrow I saw my life where I’m rid of my mind telling me to die I saw it all. But then, without the pain, what am I? Who and what am I supposed to be? What is my place in this vast world where my existence is nothing but a tiny minuscule atom in this grand universe? I wonder where it all started. Does it start from my life as the one true substance alone or does it start from the littlest atoms that make up my existence? My life comes along like an empty boat flowing steadily along a stream A stream that is at times, rocky, turbulent, smooth nonetheless, a stream My consciousness makes up for even the smallest particle within this grand design of life itself I wonder if it is all meaningless... What is my existence amounts to nothing? but here I am, existing. Would it be better to have a life where the meaning of one is irrelevant to oneself?...

i wake up every day, early as a bird. i do what i'm supposed to do as a human, i do it well. and yet, deep down, i fear: i fear i'll lose the ones i hold dear because of that.... that monster still latching itself onto the attic of my mind. i'm afraid it will jump out. i'm afraid it will blow out everything i hold dear, everyone i hold dear. i'm afraid i will swallow the pills; i'm afraid i won't see my loved ones. i am doing what i can to survive, people see it and applaud me  i appreciate it all  but my pain lingers  i ache on, the monster creeps even now— it whispers in my ear, it tells me to end it all. my mind says i'm psychotic, yet my heart says i'm pragmatic. (im doing what i can to survive.)