the hanged man

Автор: Сиринссонг


what can i say when all i feel is just hollow nothingness, black matter sinking in black holes of the deepest space; when all i see is darkness filling up the world around me, putting blindfolds over blindfolds on my bleeding eyes, never letting me go.

how can i tell the world anything when i am supposed to feel everything, but i feel nothing, maybe just the hollow void burning in my lungs, crawling through my chest, swallowing everything ever said and felt.

feeling a hangman's noose tied around my neck would feel better, but i was never given a choice, we never are, and all of us would rather choke to death than fade away.

and maybe, just maybe, there's meaning behind the hollow words and empty metaphors and crying and bleeding and yearning and begging and all these 'please go away' and 'leave me alone' and 'are we just demons silencing each other's pain'

but we are all just wicked monsters, darkest holes where their hearts should be.

and no matter how hard we try to tell ourselves this is not the life we deserved -



we know, we certainly did.