Sometimes there are no words

Silence has a more than one layer and when life starts treating us unfair you might shift from layer 1 to layer 21...

It’s something you take out from it’s resting place, inside of your ear

You expose it for all it is, and analyze what went wrong

We’re all fools and liars Thieves for pain Masters of self-torment

And all that once glittered when you were young Seems to die away

It’s a fear, to never be whole again to never find your answers in

The words you were left with...you crumble it up , the truth and you pretend it’s a person that you can kill, you pretend it never existed but remember how it was lying in the spaces between the silences every time...

What’s the use of having any sort of nature ,if not to be restored to something great. I am not great I am a girl, Small and unmeasured

Unimportant, and sometimes my self-worth Feels like it’s on a scale

Always competing against some darker nature, I call it out in all sorts of ways, and most times, it kneels before me grinning If only to tell me

That I knew all along; and I was just lying to myself.

He’s been right every time and I never listened, I never listen

But he was right and I was naïve, bold and stupid...

It was effortless to fight a ghost, To fight the light that never comes on

And I should have walked away should have, could have, would have

So now I just want to lay here and write, to find some sort of peace

Like my truths will come out in paper, I can’t even write a proper paragraph, without messing up proportion. And music gets to me too much.

Tears and blood on paper wouldn’t make a good collage for a quiet journal that I don’t use often.  And all the lullabies are just nightmares that we don’t wake from.  We’ve got so many girls half sick, half awake, in and out of love falling over themselves over someone’s words ,over someone’s thoughts and memories, people that don’t deserve it

We’ve got, men who could care less, or men that don’t try hard enough we’ve got sperm donors, and toaster ovens for a sub-life treasured and abandoned. We’re not even people I think, sometimes we’re Things and Places but we’re never an organic structure by ourselves we’ve lowered our worth and become a series of thought processes and physical preparation and somewhere, when we grow up, we go wrong...

Suddenly, you can’t put a band-aid over it you can only let it bleed...