Saturday, July 5, 2008

Poetry



...


My eyes burn.
My hands shake when I raise them.
I feel my throat dry.
Every muscle aches as if stretched extensively, despite the fact that I have not done any physical work within five paces of the description 'rigorous'.
I'm exhausted. Fatigue envelopes the whole of my existence.
My ideas are dead.
My body is covered with a feign film of sweat.
I feel my bones shattering in front of everyone's eyes and no one being able to do anything about it.


...


Everyday I wake up with it.
I formulate new reasons and ideas and theories every single day.
Stop.
My soul's status fluctuates. Surprising me sometimes and annoying me sometimes because I'm going through the same thing I've been at moments before.

The hurt's so real it's poetry.


...


Happy thoughts: us girls. :)

2 comments:

insane_orange said...

The picture is emo, yet oddly hot, dear.

macci said...

harhar. :) thanks :P