The moments before it all translates in to paper is by far the most agonizing.
There are emotions trapped fighting their way through the abyss within and they always find their way out; either through meticulously carved incisions etched on the right wrist, or a concoction of darkness and light unraveling on to paper as poetry or prose.
Lately, I’ve spent too many hours trying to give words to emotions and untangle all that is within, hoping they’d surface as words instead of the edge of the blade.
I’m sitting here trying to find the right words again
every words seems mediocre, not capturing the essence of the pain, confusion or apathy.
I had thought I’d only run out of words the day I’ve reconciled with the ghosts within and without.
But I’m sitting here trying to find the words again,
it seems I’ve run out of words – but Lord, I still feel the cold unrequited embrace of the all the ghosts dancing to a tune that piercing through my soul.
I’d run, as I have, as I should,
but I’m a little too weary tonight.