#writteninmyshadows

[writteninmyshadows]

Unholy Storm

There is a wind deep beneath my skin

Roaring against my bones,

Sweeping through my veins.

It beats fiercely at the walls of my rib cage,

Daring my lungs to void themselves of air

And demanding that my heart beat faster, faster, faster.

See, my body is a beautiful countryside, 

And my soul fills it with life and light.

But anxiety is the storm that ravages it.

My nerves are trees uprooted in the storm,

Blasted through my skin

Leaving me raw and vulnerable.

Blackberry vines thrash against my arms from within,

Tearing my flesh,

Shredding it to pieces until it is unrecognizable,

Drawing blood that is only visible to me,

Though in the right light, some may see my older scars.

Depression is the rain that beats down at the walls of the greenhouse I’ve built inside my head,

The place where I do my growing.

The place where my most intimate thoughts seek shelter,

like animals seeking warmth and comfort.

The rain floods, and spills over and out through my eyes.

The wind screams louder. 

It is angry. 

It is hungry. 

It is out for blood.

It shatters the ceiling of my greenhouse,

And glass cuts the walls of my mind,

Mutilating what was once sacred.

The animals living within seek new shelter in my chest, but once inside they see that there is wind hiding inside my lungs. 

Some try to flee, try to gnaw their way out. 

Some try to fight the storm. 

Both kinds are innocent. 

But both will die. 

Some are blown away, obliterated into nothingness by the wind, which is sharp like a blade. 

Some drown. 

All die.

Swallowed whole by my inner demons,

Because the storm, it feeds on them.

It’s all so much. It’s all so fast. I would do anything, anything to make it stop.

The storm goes on for ages, destroying everything in its path.

But, eventually, it has to stop.

What goes up must come down.

And once it finally does, I must face the devastation the storm has caused. 

I must rebuild, I must regrow.

I must mend my greenhouse,

Using stronger glass, harder to break through.

I must dig ditches, to help with future flooding.

I must nurture new thoughts, new animals to inhabit the land.

I must rest, and let the sun heal me and give life to new things.

But most importantly, 

I must burrow deep tunnels for the new animals to hide in,

Even when there is no storm,

Because you never know how fast the next one will come.

[writteninmyshadows]

Sickness

The earth is a sphere in which life once thrived

Until it was infected with the disease that is humanity

Likewise, my mind was once that of a dreamer

But now it’s infected with the sickness that is depression

And though I’m given many antidotes, my ailment never falters.

The earth could be saved, some say

By love, and peace, and kindness

That’s bullshit.

Because love can’t obliterate pollution, 

Peace can’t penetrate our inevitable corruption,

And kindness will never survive the hostility of war.

Similarly, these sentiments will not cure me.

Love cannot fix what’s left of me

My scars cannot be healed with sympathy and good intentions

I cannot be relieved of my pain, because I was bred to bear it.

And as the darkness closes in on us

And our breath is captured by death and despair

I will cease to exist never knowing what it’s like to be free.