untuned

So long to the lives of every person that died inside of me—the scent of every funeral that I grieved for. To all my emotions I drove lost into the woods just to stop it from rotting on my insides. In the wild of change, I am basking like morning sunlight, yet I am still forgotten to the eyes of God.

 I died yesterday, and if I could, I'd die tomorrow too. I'm stuck in a feeling I cannot forget. Swirling into the motion of a spiral memory lane, I felt the crowd getting smaller and smaller, and only by then did I realize that I was the one getting smaller and lonelier, rushing away from the life I couldn't have. I seek sickness; well ones don't do that.

I asked what I've been asking for—I was horrified to be understood as well as to be loved and known. And if one were brave enough, she'd need a hundred buckets to fill all the feelings I felt—so much that feeling nothing is feeling it completely. One must dream of a well that grants wish, and if it's real, I'd be the first one to toast a coin.

 Someday I'd learn what life had to teach.