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does it ever go away

the pain still lingers day by day
if only for a moment, I smile, but see
the truth in that smile isn’t me

I’d found ways to take away the pain
but nothing comes easier than this selfish disdain

But I’m only in this danger shortly
This “darkness” rushes swift but softly,
like a lingering thought that won’t release
I come to terms with this fact:

that I may never find peace.

Alone and still the time can pass
but only as slowly as sorrow lasts
The bitter cold in my aching bones is a comfort
saying

you’re not alone

you’ll be at home

the tears will dry and our tattered rags are sewn

but still

I can’t seem to shake the ways my hours have turned into days and the bittersweet suffering that my desires amaze struggles to battle what first set my heart ablaze and I question my creation and my creator, thinking what if there was nothing after, I push it out and walk away but still, yet still the end of the day I find the broken heart that was left in the dark before we ever met but this pain doesn’t come from simply being upset this is deeper and this is darker the reality becomes only starker from dusk till dawn my heart doesn’t belong here this world with it’s fear no longer sheds a single tear but what follows is silence

A deep crying unto deep that doesn’t settle my soul

only sinking further and further into what I can’t control

or at least I don’t think I can

the honesty of my idle hand is found within an object of my own suffering

The truth is, I know, this is no way to live and so I’m faced with this opposition and I have no more fight to give, so my will is weak, my sleeplessness peaks and I still have this selfish shred of hope to pull me through. What kills me most is when I forget about this promise, as if you never saw this, that you saw me, in my weakest moment.

This is my cry out to you my bleeding colors shining through, no matter how dark the night can get the sun still rises in the morning and I’m tired, so tired, of waiting.

And this prose lacks commitment due to the versatility of resentment and a cluster of pick and choose emotions that populates my existence, I’m telling you dear I can’t make this any more clear, not even to myself. My lies are all books that I hide upon this shelf and never touch them again like a dust ridden keepsake, and I feel that I mistake every chance I get to make this world brighter, and still selfishly I want my burden to feel lighter.

I can’t begin to change when I can’t see my goal in range or have a plan or a plot to remember what you forgot; My soul cries out and somehow my heart remains stout as if there is some kind of way out and I try to believe when all I feel is this decieved broken thought that still just hangs around while my crooked teeth are grinding down.

No, this is not me, this is me, this is not me, this is me.

Persuing recursion with unintentional regard has brought me back to “oh, life’s just to hard.”

But I can’t keep doing this, the same restless feeling that never wanted me to live is waking me in my sleep and shaking me, but please keep this in mind, these efforts, aren’t mine, the personification of anguish and sorrow is just an emotion that I seem to have borrowed; And this is how I push it away, this is how I try to live, day by day.