The Merchant

Travel with me into the darkest parts of my mind.

[the-first-merchant]

Breathless

I spend every second of every day screaming.

But there is no air in my lungs, and no cried are heard.

My soul yearns to be heard.

To be seen as the bloody mess it is.

But it is guarded behind the lion in my lungs.

Never to be seen.

Never to be free.

The lion does not stop the world from being heard.

Still my soul aches with love.

Burns with anger.

Bleeds sadness.

Behind the gilded cage it screams.

But, no sound comes out.

There’s no air to breathe.

Forced to choose between survival and apathy.

A lion chooses to breathe.

They say screaming is tiring.

No one disagrees.

But what they don’t say,

Is the pain that comes with being silent.

Or rather silenced.

[the-first-merchant]

Van Gogh

There are voices In my head.

They curl around my ears, and leave through my tears.

Always been part of me.

I am never able to breathe.

When I eat they speak

“Is that too much?”

Grades on paper

“Can’t you do better?”

Mirror on the wall

“Aren’t you a ball.”

Venting to my mother

“What a whiner”

Slicing across my skin

“Go again”

Now I understand Van Gogh.

Cutting off my ears to silence the spears.

Only to be in vain.

The voice is a part of me.

It can never leave.

High standards will be the death of me.