Literature
Detachment
Sometimes patience feels like dying,
resilience turns into another letdown,
an expectation becomes emptiness,
anticipation bleeds out,
forming another crowd of hollow words.
Sometimes I wish I couldn’t hear my thoughts,
silence would lead to quiet,
a road wouldn’t have a point to break,
I’d only have the ground under my feet.
-
I’d not have to think about stepping over the edge,
there wouldn’t be fear of falling,
I’d be able to look into the dark,
not worrying over what was behind it.
I’d walk wherever it took me.
Sometimes feeling feels like dying,
cutting open every bleeding wound,
the red would pool below with I alone as the audience.
No words nor conviction,
just the declaration of detachment from reality,
just for a moment.
No false hope nor anticipation,
just the black and white turning grey,
if only it wasn’t repetitive,
just for a moment.
-
I don’t know if I want a heart that bleeds constantly,
or a cold stone no one can harm in my chest.
Either medium I am still miserable,
one
