Sunday, November 15, 2020

~~~

Never, ever, let an emotional song that connects to your turbulent emotions play as you prepare to write the next day for the next entry of what has become almost an online diary at this point.

Because here I am, crying in my cold, cold room, with my overwhelming, crashing waves of emotions rolling over me, fingers begging for a release, an action to loosen the fervor of need to do something, anything, breathe swallow and uneven, swallowing down the thoughts, the emotions attempting to exit through my mouth as shaking breathes, as my nails keep pick pick picking at themselves, my legs tense and wound, pleading with my brain to be let free, to slip off of my bed and onto the cold harsh carpet and dance across the rough surface of beaten and old carpet until there's nothing, nothing there, nothing begging to be released, until the pounding beat passes from my mind and my breathes are heavily and my limbs collapse underneath me, leaving me broken in the wreckage of my destruction, of my sign, of my mark, of the reflection of  the chaos and rising, always rising, tension in my mind and heart and body and soul and writing and words and emotions that finally, finally has an outlet, that finally can be released into the world and seen and proven to be true instead of just being thoughts and ideas and images and feelings in my head, always pound pound pounding at the edges of me about never released, never allowed to pour out into the real world, into a world that isn't just me and my mind and my body and the secrets upon secrets upon secrets that have built me up into who I am today, into the person who wishes they could simply release these emotions out without wanting to hurt someone, anyone, even though the guilt crashes down at the mere thought of causing pain on someone and it swallows me whole, this figure in my head that constantly tells me I'm not enough, that who I am is a sin, is the devil's work, and though I scream that maybe I don't care of I'm the devil's work if I'm me, it refuses to let go to let me leave to realms me from it's briars and blood and crosses and bread and glass and wooden pews and books that always stained my skin blue, bluer than the veins I can see peering out at me from my pale pale skin, from the easily heated red of my palms and appearing and disappearing skin of my elbow's crook and bottom edges of my feet's soles and backs of my knees and everything turns red too quickly, but red can be so beautiful so why is my red so hated, why do I hate my red so much when it blooms from my hands and feet and face because I can't control the temperature and it refuses to let me cool down without the sweet sweet salt and water mix that drip drip drips from my pores and yet is so different from the salt and water mixture that loves to make its way out of my eyes and down my bruise purple eye bags and down my white and red stained cheeks all to collect at my chin and fall, fall like fallen angels that I wish I could be because at least I'd be free, at least I'd never doubt what my belief is because I'd be casted out and I'd be free and of course I wouldn't be wanted by them because at least it's because of falling and not because of my gender or pronouns or sexuality or thoughts or feelings or ideas or creations or things I take pleasure in doing because I'd be f r e e 

Words: 662

Stay safe kiddos, make sure to have an outlet.

Love you <3<3<3

~Ink