❝ and if no one sees you, are you really there at all? ❞

Poetry - "shaken misguided voices."
Posted Friday, April 29, 2016 // 9:13 PM
art, drawing, and grunge image

28/4/2016 — Thursday.

shaking lungs, uneven heartbeat.
i breathe through all the dust,
gritting teeth out of the rust.
forced smile, awakened silence.
taking it in, as people pulling it out.

"i dare you, to look me in the eyes and say
that you are sick. you are fucking sick in
the brain that you don't make any sense
in this world, any longer."

i gave up.

i look away. because let's be real,
people always need an evidence
for every single thing in this mad world.
and i cannot fucking
take out my brain and heart
and show it to them how much it is
damaged, bruised, and wounded,
they'll laugh every time.
because if you cannot see it;
it was never really there, right?

"pull your shit together, hun."

i am indeed.
shaking, trying to get a grip
of all my broken pieces that are
slowly, but surely is falling apart.
as i hold another pieces,
the other one falls.

"why are you so lazy?
get out of your room."

i am not.
it just hurts every time i move.
do you even understand at all?
the sharp edges scratch me
and cut me open till i bleed.
bleed, and bleed, and bleed away.
wishing that i can bleed the demons out,
but i lose my sanity a lot more
than the blood that bleed from
the unstitched battle scars.

it is hard to make people believe,
when they do not fucking care
in the very first place, is it not?


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