My solitude grows out of my clothes…

It knows no bounds

I am unable to shake hands or give hugs to those I’d love to hold.

I then create beauty in spaces which I no longer allow them to occupy,

Because my art does not derive from human interaction,

but rather the hollows they leave behind…

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Nobody Asks An Art Piece Why It Is The Way It Is

I haven’t written for a very long time and I guess it’s because I’m still going through the many forms of hurt and pain and I don’t know how to express without actually hurting.

And I guess I also realised that people close to me go through my work and ask about it.

It’s uncomfortable.

I Hate it.

I write because I don’t want to talk about it.

People don’t get that.

I remember why I actually started writing,

I had a lot of heaviness, I felt neglected and heavily betrayed by the only person I knew how to love the most.

I could have been many questionable things at that point of my life,

But I turned to my notebook.

Now here I am,

With somewhat of a trembling pen just trying to get my life together again

Because living half a life isn’t worth it anymore.

I just want to be

A L I V E

This is Chapter 2 of my life.

Pain demands to be felt…

There is nothing worse than being surrounded by people and still feeling extremely lonely.

Because nobody hears your demons when they slowly plow at your soul.

Everyone is caught up in their own lives, feeding the monster that have engulfed their soul.

I’ve been lingering around the city with unmet emotions for the longest time.

The nicest thing about being alone is that it’s associated with loneliness.
So it all makes sense and it’s easier to take in and understand.

So I- cut off most of my soul satisfying social media drugs.
And withdrawal immediately started kicking in.

I got to see that people don’t identify Me with silence.
And without noise, I’m unseen, unheard, Unmissed, and virtually nonexistent.

And that all they crave is my attention. Only giving, what I put forth.

It’s quite unfortunate, because right now, my life makes anything, but sense.

Unable to move forward or back.
I’m stagnant.
I’m still.

I’m sitting here with pain I never thought belong to me.
It’s starring blankly at me,
I can believe that it’s my portion.

It doesn’t move.

It doesn’t flinch.

My crying isn’t taken it away.

For the the first time, my tears are the only thing that stay.