#zyai

We can be either the flower or the soil. This is a choice.

Do not for a flower, choose to be soil.

Aching. Breaking. Tarnished and Black.

Split. Torn. Worn and Cracked.

Hollowed. Emptied. Splintered and Bruised.

Scarred. Charred. Sore and abused.

And dim. And poisoned. And dark. And crude.

And rotting. And bleeding. And leaking. And skewed.

It’s warped. It’s raw. It’s marred. It’s peeling. It’s dwarfed and flawed, its shards aren’t healing.

How do I run from my life? How do I escape? 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙥𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙖𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙠 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙜𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙬, 𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙞𝙩

How do I disappear and leave the people I knew? 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙤𝙗𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙡𝙮 𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝘼𝙩 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙜𝙤, 𝙞𝙩’𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪

Where do I go? What do I say? Do I say words? Which ones, which way?

Why am I crying? 𝙨𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙮𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙖𝙮 𝙨𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙩𝙤𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙤𝙬 Ok, but what are they?

𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙨𝙠 𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 I think too much too I feel too many things 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪’𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙤

𝙄𝙩’𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙮 𝙥𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙊𝙧 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙤𝙧 𝙗𝙤𝙩𝙝 Well who cares what they think, right? Cause I hate me the most

I just want a new life Love, friends, and joy Is that too much to ask? 𝙄𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙖 𝙗𝙧𝙤𝙠𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙤𝙮

I don’t understand 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙜𝙚𝙩? I just want to know why 𝙒𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙙𝙪𝙝, 𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪’𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙠

I’m not sick, I’m fine Look, I’m up out’ve bed 𝙎𝙪𝙧𝙚, 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙬𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮 𝙎𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙬𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙

I give up.