There is a world beyond this house. I feel so caged. I want to breathe but I can’t find any air supply. I am searching through a dark tunnel but I am finding nothing. I look around but find no one there. In hope of finding joy I packed my things away just to see the reaction on your face…to prove I could make it in a world that is beyond harsh.
I am not good at this. I feel my imperfectness showing, yet I keep trying. I swallow the little pride I have back, and try to stay strong, but I end of falling to my knees.
My knees look skinned and the blood is trickling down with a warm sensation that is becoming numb.
I proved to you I could do it, but I am finding it harder to stay. I wanted to run, to feel the rush of wind hitting against my throat. I wanted my lungs to lapse so I can’t breathe anymore. I wanted that feeling of dying to come back to me. I wanted that reminder to hit me in my face. I need that reminder to let me know what I am fighting for. I need to know what I hold and need to accomplish, to not just hang in the air like a floating balloon.
I look at my arms, they are nipped and fragile. I feel so weak I can barely stand to see the twinkling sun or bother to reach beyond the cloud. I want to cry but I choke back tears because I know tears won’t help me this time. I once felt so sure of this world, but it is looking darker each day. The days seem to collide and swim away with the moon. Even then I don’t care.
I try to speak out but I can never seem to find my voice. It comes out so faint even the wind seems to blow it away. I have attempted to follow the wind to see where it would lead me but I was bared away from the dreams I held dear. I have tried to tell you…I have tried giving warning signs but you don’t know that I am secretly running in a blind directing and soon I know I will be crashing down. I don’t think I have the strength to fly away and make things better. I have no voice in me to fight back because something in me knows nothing will ever change. Maybe this is what life is about…one big depression clouding about before the storm truly hits.
And I feel so weak…I am but a bird playing games with a cat that is ready to devour me. Yet I throw I punch only to crash and burn.
I have strived to step out and say I like this life but I feel bored and unfulfilled. In this little beating heart the dreamer is fading and becoming a realist, throwing away all the dreams out a balcony window forgetting their very existence.
This is the last of these words. A testimony of dead words which will never mean a thing…I just let them go silently to their grave or stay like a cage bird that I am.
