I stopped writing since I broke her heart, I never looked back on having feelings again, I let lust take over and felt karma bite down on my internal cry for what I used to have and lost.

Who am I to pretend? Time went back in reverse, prisoner of my mind and obligations, I wonder if i gave myself a curse.

Here am i again, something pathetic to say, I am a child in tears huddled in the corner, afraid of her own shadows. Clenching and grinding teeth when those who assume to know what haunts me try to advise me on who to be.

The other side of myself, the stronger being, has to lie to me, tell me I am weak for not getting away with it all. Why I have to run away from myself, I never know, my legs are tired and heavy. Someone carry me, vices no longer consume and take care of the feelings unnecessary to achieve malice.

Here I am now, afraid of myself, afraid of others, afraid to speak my mind. When the hear me out, i will stand alone, makes no difference from my status now. Everyone is my victim it seems, yet i suffer in silence so others can be loved by me, so I can say I love them back. Yes, I guess to love is to suffer.

Then I question, how selfish am I really?

fragmentos-adolescentes:

‘’Hay amores cortos y amores largos”

le dijo ella.

Y concluyó sin misericordia:

“Este, fue corto”.

—Gabriel García Marquez.

violentwavesofemotion:

“I kissed a flame, what did I expect.”

— Rosanna Warren, from Departure: Poems; “From the Notebooks of Anne Verveine,”

left-reminders:

purplemonkeysexgod69:

lepetitvaniteux:

Hola. Cómo están? Estoy muy aburrida. Necesito salir. Me estoy desesperando. Me siento mal. Tengo hambre. Los odio. Hola cómo están? Estoy bien. No pasó nada. Me siento sola. Tengo hambre. No tengo sueño. Por qué la vida es así. Ya no puedo más. Odio el mundo. Estoy bien. No pasa nada.

@lepetitvaniteux

drunk-on-writing:

and just between you and me, 
there is nothing braver than choosing to see 
the good in others despite all of the bad
that this world may be 
while they scream and shout 
god awful things about 
things they don’t understand 
you still aren’t without 
that glimmer of hope; and isn’t that so brave?
to be the one bringing flowers 
to someone else’s grave 
and though your heart bleeds
i still hear you scream
that maybe, just maybe
people aren’t as bad as they seem

(cc, 2019)

imransuleiman: