I have tried,
tried to fix everything you have broken.
which once was whole, but now is severed,
can no longer beat steady rhythms.
You seem to have left it in this state
where all it can manage
is a disjointed pattern, one that
not even the evilest
or the saddest of beings
could ever live with.
they no longer long to see me,
no longer long to be with me
because I am sad,
and raw sadness is an emotion few have felt.
But I do not blame them,
for now, even when
I am with them, I am not
truly there, and it’s easier
for them to make excuses
than to deal with this mutilated version
that is supposedly me
which once was filled
with wondrous ideas,
and inquiring questions,
has become plagued with terrible thoughts,
and haunting answers, that
no soul would want to know about.
My subconscious, soaked in melancholy,
has seeped through the cracks and crevasses which once
did not exist.
And in this ocean of sorrow,
I find myself drowning.
I am trying,
trying to fix everything you have broken.
I sit in the ever growing darkness
that is night,
and I try to fix myself
so that maybe you will love me again.
Until then, I will spend every moonlit hour
struggling to amend my damaged entity,
while you lay in bed, unaware,
why are the american horror story opening credits almost scarier than the actual show
People like to say love is unconditional, but it’s not, and even if it was unconditional, it’s still never free. There’s always an expectation attached. They always want something in return. Like they want you to be happy or whatever and that makes you automatically responsible for their happiness because they won’t be happy unless you are … I just don’t want that responsibility.