♥vanessayixuan♥

Writing hurts for I am forced to relive those painful memories of the past, memories I wish I could seal away for eternity. The pain is like my never ending ink and my tears are like the unspoken words. But when I write, it also feels like I’m writing the pain away. I slowly begin to accept my past for what it is and not what it was. Writing is pain but writing is also pleasure. It’s the reality I have created, one where I can express all my egos, one where I can be me without the fear of being judged, one where I can soar my wings and fly.

Writing is not simply sitting here, at a keyboard, listening to depressive suicidal black metal and coming out with new, fancy words. Writing is opening my soul up. Writing is bleeding all the blood that’s been shed, throughout the years. Writing is…it is opening the door leading to my demons. It is staying here, with eyes wide open, with clenched fists, fighting myself. For me, writing is the ultimate battle between me and my demons. This is precisely why I do not know if it is healing and helping me forget or always reliving memories long gone and destroying. Perhaps both.

if ever you were in the vicinity of a loner, you might believe there is tranquillity in solitude, but if ever you were a loner, you know solitude is an escape from the pandemonium in a world that never could hear you screaming.

i admire those who aren’t afraid to admit they’re a little out of their head, this world is maddening after all. we’re each made up of our own little tragedies; the time we wasted, the people we miss, that chance we never took, the goodbye we forgot to say. i think it takes a great deal of madness to say, to hell with it, maybe you have to be a little crazy to survive.