A Poet's Scribe

[apoetsscribe]

I romanticised you. That was my mistake.

[apoetsscribe]

It is sickness. A description isn't needed, for we all are acquainted with the symptoms of being lonely.

[apoetsscribe]

A single reverberating thought serves as a personal reminder. The tidal wave of reality harshly breaks me from my dissociation. I find myself drifting there a lot these days, to my place of absolute nothing. The unknown of it all is a welcoming comfort, providing a separation from the living which is filled with a different type of uncertainty.

[thoughtcascades]

not to be dramatic but i genuinely feel like i haven’t been fully known by another human being in years

[apoetsscribe]

The answers for questions that will never be found, how they come to consume and fester. The termites feverously feasting away. A record played over and over, the sound distinct grows scratchy to variations of chaos. Wailing screams fill a claustrophobic room, the choir demonic in nature, never ceases. anxiety.

[apoetsscribe]

[apoetsscribe]

Depression. Is almost like a living life force, breathing and surviving through its host. A 'parasite' which leeches its way inside someone through layers of skin, muscle and even dense bone. It makes it's way to the very core, devouring their soul and spirit. Diminishing the light that once luminated the darkness within. The process is torturously sluggish, until there is no longer a glow. The Parasite makes a home here, where it eats erasing the good like a tasty snack. The host becomes a puppet, a empty shell hostage to the corruption we all call Depression.

[apoetsscribe]

Death is a gentlemen. I knew him once. He was a gentle soul and possessed a calming presence. But, that was in the past. Now, when we pass in the streets, I smile. He never notices because he's a busy man and I no longer require his attention.

[apoetsscribe]

Dear Me, It's been a difficult journey. You have fought with everything, only to fall, but you get up and try yet again. A person who has proved to yourself time and time again you are worthy. Remember you are stronger than give yourself credit for, I am writing this to be a constant reminder.

[surqrised]

“There’s really no shortcut to forgetting someone. You just have to endure missing them everyday until you don’t anymore.”

— Unknown

[thoughtkick]

“How many times can the same thing break your heart?”

— Unknown

[apoetsscribe]

As many times as you let it.

[apoetsscribe]

A single street, quiet in a way, bursting with character, is a mysterious quaint store. Filled to the brim of relics of the past; shiny trinkets, aged battered furniture and moth-eaten books written in wisdom of a different era.

So many stories coincide with every single item. They do not have a heart but have lived alongside a human that does.

A scratched mirror sits upon one of the walls, the old frame worn with flecks of gold seeping into an imaginative image of how glorious it was once long ago. The reflection is a vision of how much time has passed since then. A portal of time. An old soul, youthful in appearance, is reflected in glass. A girl, at least that's what she calls herself, when really she's a young woman.

[apoetsscribe]

Living in a picturesque social media platform, where comparison is a killer. Scrolling to my doom.

[apoetsscribe]

The unnecessary fretting whirlwind of thoughts before bed; how seamlessly they leave wreaking havoc in their wake as they leave my mind, on for the next to consume.

[thehiraethoasis]

They pass through me effortlessly, yet each departure feels like a storm, and I’m left gathering myself, waiting for calm that never seems to come.

[apoetsscribe]

Losing someone is a pain you never heal from. The pain will fade over time, like a cut, eventually the bleeding will stop but the scar will never leave you. Marked for as long as you live on your skin.

The grief and sorrow will always be there, never too far from the surface but as time moves forward you learn how to deal with the feeling of emptiness that person left in your soul.

[apoetsscribe]

A bright star will explode, it's a fact. Taking everything within its proximity into the unknown formidable darkness. A black hole. But, unbeknownst to the star, turmoil and grief follows for everything closest to it. Hope disappears, not a remnant of its essence to be found. Except, the single memory of how brightly the star had once burnt.

[apoetsscribe]

The unnecessary fretting whirlwind of thoughts before bed; how seamlessly they leave wreaking havoc in their wake as they leave my mind, on for the next to consume.