the art of escapism

@frogbooty

is your life just one more lie?

141 posts

byeqsterixk-deactivated20180709

To a world where I wish I didn’t have to come home to.

I adore you, I adore home- or I have to. I prefer going than staying, because it hurts too much. There are reminders everywhere of the things I have lost and the things I will lose. But though I can’t run forever, the wanderlust I feel, the slight anxiety, the unsettled shadow on my shoulders, creeping into my spine, into my heart- I think that’ll last a little longer than forever.

I can’t be contained in this body, in this soul, in this life, because there’s so much more that I am and that I hunger for. This life is not enough because my imagination feeds me with images and thoughts of more, more, more. Different things, things that cannot be contained in a life like this.

But what choice do I have but to stay and manage and hope that when I die, my eyes open to something else? Hope that I don’t die but I live through everything I think about, hopelessly throwing myself at everything life has to offer, and more?

There’s nothing I can do but hope, and stand really still and wish, hope, think, and believe that if I have some faith, trust, and pixie dust, the things that dance in my head will come true. If not today, then someday, some life, some other existence years and years from now.

I’m not in a hurry to live. I’m just not sure if I can wait forever. But then, some think that you have to do things and not wait. I contradict that, but hey, let’s not let this piece turn into a debate; that can wait as well. So cheers to whatever’s coming and come what may to that.

Let’s just hope that I’ll be prepared.

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this angel i know has fallen so low would you permit a demon like me to even come close, give you my presence so you know you are not all alone? i very much doubt it but i will always wish you the best. so head up, angel. your halo’s slipping.

it is frustrating that everyone else has the words i want to say.

that i’m never good enough. it is so frustrating; i am not enough.

i am insufficient. i hate that i am human i hate emotions and

i dislike overthinking. i despise all of me.

frustration at everything makes me want to act like a child and thrash and hit things around me.

i don’t like not understanding what is happening right now.

I am torn. To confront, or not to confront?

And which of them should I talk to?

Words are powerful. Spoken, written, thought. The pen is truly mightier than the sword.

A sword can harm someone physically, but the pen can harm the psyche, the mind.

The pen can leave you doubting yourself and everything around you.

There are two sides to every situation, though. The pen does not only have the power to harm, but the power to heal as well.

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Sometimes at night I get that feeling of being hollow, as if my body is just a vessel for my soul, my soul which can escape at any time, for any reason at all.

Other times I just feel strange in an indescribable way; not sad because there is no reason to be sad, but not happy, either.

Empty’s the word I’m looking for, I think. It’s during times like these that I feel compelled to write.

Lately, I have found myself often playing with a deck of cards.

Perhaps, a part of me whispers, it is me teaching myself on life and how unreliable it is. Perhaps it is me saying that life is just a game; a game of luck, a game of chance.

Perhaps it is nothing, and I am looking too much into things again.

“I’m sorry.”

Those are words I’ve been trying to say less because they mean so much more.

But how can I help it if I really do mean them that often? Well, I guess I’ll just learn.

Would it make a difference if I were to say “Thank you for existing.” or if an Anon were to say it?

Nevertheless, thank you for existing, my dearest. I am indeed doubtlessly quite grateful.

And once again my hands- they are tied in front of me, useless.

And once again, I am helpless to the happenings in, with, around you.

And once again, I can only look, watch, observe, for I am shut out.

And once again, I see you fall apart, I see you try to hold yourself.

And once again, I can only watch and wait for you as I see you hurt.

And once again, I am overwhelmed with misanthropy, and a surging love.

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Here I lay a marigold for all of the pain that you have felt.

Here I lay a manchineel, for all of the betrayals that you have undergone.

Here I lay a fennel for you, for aches and burdens from this life.

Here I lay an iris, in hopes that the future will be brighter.

Lately, I have been feeling as if I have been running out of time, running after time and things that will not wait for me.

We used to be so sweet, so lovely, loving, spilling to each other our words of forever, I’ll never let you go, and never let me go.

It’s quite strange how time and circumstances twist the words we used to say and make them quite invalid, don’t you think?

My stubbornness, my indecision, my thoughtlessness, my forgetfulness, and many more. My weaknesses. They will be the end of me, relentlessly, bringing me pain, regret, and sorrow.

To approach you or not to approach you? To give you space, or not to give you space? I worry for you, your health and safety, but I’m torn between approaching you or giving you space.

I will ask the 8 ball.

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It hurts me as well, seeing you in pain.

It hurts so much to not be able to help.

I just want to rid you of the pain and suffering.

Rid you of them, by taking them within me.

Please, let me in and let me help you again?

I really am so fucking worried about you.

Every night you say that everything hurts.

Tell me, let me help you through the pain.

You have no idea how it pains me, angel.

To see my beloved in pain and vulnerable.

Oh, me, oh, life. I am so, so worried.

And I feel so useless, unable to help you-

Because you won’t let me in your walls, not anymore.

I just really want you to be alright, you know?

I just want you to be healthy and safe and okay.

I’m concerned and I care and I love you still. Always.

I still care about you, you know. No lies here.

I still care about you more than I do about us.

I dreamt you let me care for you once more.

I miss you. But oh, no. I’m being clingy again.

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