I write but I don't know why.
I never wish to share it with anyone I know.
I don't wish to try and learn to write,
Nor to try and pursue a career.
So why do I write?

Is it really all to send a message?

I feel like a body in a sea of people.
Invisible.
No one to know
No one knows.

I don't want time to heal my wounds
I'd rather pick at the scabs and watch myself bleed

I thought

we’ve been    through it all

but you            threw it all

 away.

-

nothing is left
                             now but
  
my broken pieces

Maybe it’s just me.
But our talks feel one sided.
I truly believe that conversation is what keeps bridges strong.
But bridges take two people to hold up.

Uncovering
Undercover
Ideas

I recover
From long madness
Called N-U-M-B-N-E-S-S

Held me in
For too long
Behind bars
Made of steel
Of fears

F-E-A-R-S

Instead of
TEARS

I wished many times
I could feel SADNESS
But all I felt was
NOTHINGNESS
And nothing else

Then I looked precisely
At the NOTHINGNESS
And found everything
Hidden in there.

Not only SADNESS
and NEGATIVITIES
But even HAPPINESS
and POSITIVITIES

I found new POSSIBILITIES
And the NOTHINGNESS
Became EVERYTHINGNESS

just like the colour WHITE
consists of all the other colours
Combined.

most of us are lonely