a diary entry: Anger
16.7.2018
Anger is a place i know too well yet i can't describe it i can't write about it i've even anatomized my own hands after they have brutaly threw thoughts and destroyed people in my head to see if my blood is still the same if the undying rage the power that gripped my heart to palpitation has left any trace of it's existence of what it truly is but i came out with nothing and my feet can't keep still and my eyes are blazing with what i hate and my angels are hiding behind my back while the devil himself is stripping in front of me in all his unsettling glory setting the air that i breathe on fire.. Suddenly the bad mouths matter more than they should the bad thoughts people have said dismissively are wrapping themselves around my neck and i want to prove everyone everything i want to pour my blood over alters and show what i am made of i want to keep on talking phrasing their feelings putting their misery to sleep so they would know that i am trying i am good and i want to remain good i want to be even better i want to die with a dry tongue that has spoken all the truth and nothing but the truth and i want to carry comfort in my womb so i can offer what the dry earth is taking i want to die when i have watered all thr flowers i possibly can and fed all the open mouths a meal to remember..but it's not enough i am not enough my body is not enough my sight my time my existense my fights are not enough my fucking love is not enough my cause is not enough my expresssion is not fucking enough.
And i am dreaming of an excuse to break it all and break myself in the process.. My angels would whisper that breaking myself won't feed mouths nor water grounds and i want to say that i don't care but i do. I do care and giving up is physically impossible and fidelity is what i am built for and i dont know whether to be be proud or cry my fucking eyes out because i am tired and i am tired of being tired and it's against me to try and set the world on fire so i'll try even harder to describe anger.. Anger is a neglected temple that was once filled with prayers and every hour is a knife to the wound every hour is a proof of it's emptiness so if fills it's self with rejection it packs it's own air with the violent thoughts of getting back at everyone who never stepped foot in it .it tricks it's self with thinking that rejecting love will make it stronger but it doesnt and it makes it even more angry..
Tonight my room is not safe and my bed is encrusted with the golden thorns of anger the ones that make you dream of destruction but tonight i'll stay up in the corner of my room with my bones wrapped up tightly to shield my heart tonight i might be weak i might be unable of giving but i will live until i am strong enough to do it.. After all healing is not linear
Anger is a place i know too well yet i can't describe it i can't write about it i've even anatomized my own hands after they have brutaly threw thoughts and destroyed people in my head to see if my blood is still the same if the undying rage the power that gripped my heart to palpitation has left any trace of it's existence of what it truly is but i came out with nothing and my feet can't keep still and my eyes are blazing with what i hate and my angels are hiding behind my back while the devil himself is stripping in front of me in all his unsettling glory setting the air that i breathe on fire.. Suddenly the bad mouths matter more than they should the bad thoughts people have said dismissively are wrapping themselves around my neck and i want to prove everyone everything i want to pour my blood over alters and show what i am made of i want to keep on talking phrasing their feelings putting their misery to sleep so they would know that i am trying i am good and i want to remain good i want to be even better i want to die with a dry tongue that has spoken all the truth and nothing but the truth and i want to carry comfort in my womb so i can offer what the dry earth is taking i want to die when i have watered all thr flowers i possibly can and fed all the open mouths a meal to remember..but it's not enough i am not enough my body is not enough my sight my time my existense my fights are not enough my fucking love is not enough my cause is not enough my expresssion is not fucking enough.
And i am dreaming of an excuse to break it all and break myself in the process.. My angels would whisper that breaking myself won't feed mouths nor water grounds and i want to say that i don't care but i do. I do care and giving up is physically impossible and fidelity is what i am built for and i dont know whether to be be proud or cry my fucking eyes out because i am tired and i am tired of being tired and it's against me to try and set the world on fire so i'll try even harder to describe anger.. Anger is a neglected temple that was once filled with prayers and every hour is a knife to the wound every hour is a proof of it's emptiness so if fills it's self with rejection it packs it's own air with the violent thoughts of getting back at everyone who never stepped foot in it .it tricks it's self with thinking that rejecting love will make it stronger but it doesnt and it makes it even more angry..
Tonight my room is not safe and my bed is encrusted with the golden thorns of anger the ones that make you dream of destruction but tonight i'll stay up in the corner of my room with my bones wrapped up tightly to shield my heart tonight i might be weak i might be unable of giving but i will live until i am strong enough to do it.. After all healing is not linear
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