I keep hoping for the good side of things. Enduring day after day, breathing no longer comes easy.
Everything happens for a reason. You'll understand when you're older.
The playground lays bare, silent and cold in the winter snow. Silence broken by the creaking of the rusty swing, moved by a ghost, pale and frail.
I am grown up now. It still doesn't make sense.
No one ever sees me and so I sit here waiting for spring. Hoping that the blooming of flowers will bring back life into my life. Smoke and cigarettes blur into one before my eyes, my pain numb with the euphoria flowing in my veins. I dance to the sound of music unheard to the ears of those who claim to be living. This feeling right here, of freedom and bliss, I want to feel it forever, unfiltered and pure. Yellow lights flicker, lighting up at the dark streets. I dance my way through. I dance, my heart on my sleeve, clinging on to the ecstasy that I know will last for only a few more.
The cold playground welcomes me, the swing creaking in the cold wind.
Ah I See Now.
It will never make sense.
- A.A
BINABASA MO ANG
Dark Therapy
Poetry||Poetry|| I built my own Paris, Just to watch it crumble down And yet I tried again, Mind fixated on a fantasy That spoke of wings and fairy tales #164 ranking in poetry 9/1/2021 #149 ranking in poetry 9/2/2021 #72 ranking in poetry 9/4/2021 #55 ra...
