مفقود // הפסד

there's no other way i know how to let out emotions without painstakingly bleeding my way out of each and every one of them because somehow the image of fear and the idea of beauty has contorted together and has been regurgitated to us in a way that makes it hurt less.

i don't know how to be brave.

i don't know how to be strong. 

i don't know if i am still capable of fine tuning every negative thought that flits into my head. 

i don't know so many things that i'm supposed to know.

and i can't tell if i'm wrong or if everybody's right because i can't seem to draw the lines anymore. there's so much difference that suddenly it becomes the same and there's a stab somewhere in my gut where things were supposed to get better, when breathing didn't hurt this bad, when crying meant i had lost something instead of someone. 

and fear didn't equate to the hollowness of every fibre of your bone when you realise they were never there. they were beautiful illusions and haunting hallucinations.

they were sunshine before the hurricane rolled in and killed every inch of your worth.

but somehow it always comes down to this:

"it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."

-dina xx 

ช่วยให้

there' a certain comfort in the hollowness that allows your body to sink into itself. it makes everything pile up on each other so that even if you move, you can feel the muscles pulling your bones out of a peaceful slumber. there's an ache somewhere but it doesn't matter because if you move, if you so much as breathe, it will ache every where;

the way it seems to ache when they call your name as if they notice that you exist at all.

the way it seems to ache when they push you further back until you are shivering at the thought of your own skin.

the way it seems to ache when you cry, and the sobs stick into your throat and they mistake it for your laughter.

nothing seems to fall right anymore. and somehow you shoulder the guilt of everyone's lack of concern and you collapse. because you were nothing to begin with. how do you hold up the weight of everything when you barely have enough to be something?

so let your destructive thoughts burn this body into ash.

let your flames consume everything you had faithfully choked out of your body because being full meant being empty.

may your cries encage you until you learn to let the water seep into every surface of you that you have left.

let it sting.

because then, at least you still feel something at all.

- dina xx