I was looking at a painting the other day, trying to figure out what inspired the artist to paint such hues of red and blue. At some point it made me realize that I do the same thing with my writings. Some ask what inspires me to write from the inner sanctum of my soul. I smile. Secretly hiding the real meaning within, for no one will understand. They never will. Something inside of me was willing to run away and never look back. Instead I write. I pour my soul out onto a piece of paper and write.
A question traced the lips of one. Query into how I really feel. Was I okay? Was I doing fine? How will I survive? My answer will always be the same: "I'm fine, life's going great never better." But inside I am slowly melting into a quicksand of pain. Each grain slowly sinks me in sorrow. I have managed to smile despite the bitter tears that cascades from eyes.
People knew. But never asked me, with respect to how I would feel. Yet in their eyes I could feel the pity. Their lips tried to tell me how sorry they were for me. But never managed to escape.
Once there was a soul, who looked for herself amongst the ruins of a former self. But she could not seem to find what she might have lost. Was there? Was there really something missing to begin with? Maybe, just maybe. I hear a lot of stories that someone has fallen for me and would like to watch the stars with me at night as they begin to play with the ascending moon in the velvety sky. But my ears are beginning to become deaf. Maybe I didn't wanted to hear another in fear that the same thing might happen again. A mess that's not even mine, that I have to clean up.
I just wish that I find the truth soon. To end this confusion and find peace that's rightfully mine.
A question traced the lips of one. Query into how I really feel. Was I okay? Was I doing fine? How will I survive? My answer will always be the same: "I'm fine, life's going great never better." But inside I am slowly melting into a quicksand of pain. Each grain slowly sinks me in sorrow. I have managed to smile despite the bitter tears that cascades from eyes.
People knew. But never asked me, with respect to how I would feel. Yet in their eyes I could feel the pity. Their lips tried to tell me how sorry they were for me. But never managed to escape.
Once there was a soul, who looked for herself amongst the ruins of a former self. But she could not seem to find what she might have lost. Was there? Was there really something missing to begin with? Maybe, just maybe. I hear a lot of stories that someone has fallen for me and would like to watch the stars with me at night as they begin to play with the ascending moon in the velvety sky. But my ears are beginning to become deaf. Maybe I didn't wanted to hear another in fear that the same thing might happen again. A mess that's not even mine, that I have to clean up.
I just wish that I find the truth soon. To end this confusion and find peace that's rightfully mine.
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