joi, 10 iulie 2014

Damien Page-Hell is what I am



A teetering surplus of depressive waves
Ensnaring my soul like a bear trap.
I want out. I want out of this torment.
Nothing in this world seems fair.
How can I confess my love to someone I only see in my dreams?

I'm at the point of realizing my existence,
as temporary as it is
is doomed to be spent alone
underneath the facade of happiness glossed with an idealistic hope
that will never come to fruition because neither of us want it enough.

Even worse, my mental state is deteriorating away slowly.
I can see my insides shatter underneath the weight of my heavy chest.
I feel my pain surge like electricity.
I scratch until I bleed and nobody notices.
Blood stained mattresses, covers, and pillowcases.
Nobody cares to even ask why.

No medication can mend the wounds of a broken heart.
No amount of love can repair a wounded soul.
No amount of anything can fix something that doesn't exist.

I found out what hell is.

Hell is what I am.

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