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  • Writer's pictureBitsandpieces

I am the disease and the cure

Eureka, light! Bulb strikes and a Polaroid picture paints the picture I have failed to see, but painted, over and over, and over again…

Self loathsome soul speaks ill of the one that lives closest to the surface. Causing waves and having her forget “her” as a whole. Falling yesterday bound, and freshly branded…

She has failed to feed the fish beneath the skin, the piranha that devour temperament should they be starving for the dark, for peace, for a space without others, and for rest.

Let the games begin should you deny the dark to the parts tiny and needing sleep.

Seeping, into my skin, they come, and they come, with a vengeance.

Self loathing prevents me from knowing I am the conductor of all should we be engaged.

I cannot feel my own feelings without directing those to feel the same.

When I am joyful, all are joyful. When I am filled with rage and quiet, and I am in the room, “they" are in fear. Removing my energy causes damage, irreparable damage. My everything causes irreversible and irreparable damage.

My want to beat what’s impossible, to prove it could be done, all the while knowing, the math was against me.

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