lleia

i miss you when youre right in front of me, you miss me when im not, thats the difference between us.

because, like the fool that i am, I'll wait around for love.

what other option do i have but to romanticise my melancholic solitude?

praying and hoping for something I'll never have is my personality trait

and on days like these, its hard to recognise myself in the mirror. the feeling of wanting to crawl out of my skin never really escapes me, the feeling of agony studded deep inside my skin, the rawness on my tongue; the energy seeps out of me like water through a drain and i dont know where im going with my words. life feels dull, and i want to rip my heart into shreds.

i havent written something in so damn long gosh. no poems come to me, no lines, just nothing. its just empty here.

my quest for delivering the truth bites me in the ass every time cause i end up telling people everything thats on my mind, and thats not okay. i end up telling them how they arent trustworthy and how i despise them, and although im telling them the truth, i end up becoming the wrong person, when i was the one wronged all along; and its a terrible terrible thing to not know how to make it better.

the feeling of wanting to crawl out of skin and take out my bones piece by piece is getting real.

a funny thing it is; to be average at everything you love doing, to think that you'll never do something great because you're not meant for it, to not know how to make it better and to not know how to ask for help.

been feeling the 'lipstick on a pig' analogy deeply lately