To me,the world is broken.Sometimes beyond repair,sometimes with only a few tiny cracks to cover up.We always try to fix it,fix ourselves in the process,but people come and go,nothing is forever.It really makes you wonder whether there's a point to it all anymore...
I am scared shitless of living,you know.It's true.Sometimes,I fail to believe I'm even real.I only feel the weight of my own being when I recognize the reality of others in action.
I know where I am now,but I don't know where or why I want to go.I know who I am now,but not the person I'm going to end up being.I'm missing a lot of pieces here,the puzzle isn't quite clear anymore.It never was,though.
There are days when I go without crying to the minute,like a conscious desert.But that drought builds up and then come the days when,if you touch me with the lightest feather,I decompose into a cloudless rain of bitter throbs.It seems right and it seems wrong,but most of all it just seems present.Like mourning for a broken bone that won't let you function or the fact that you were born in the first place.
When the rain in my body just won't subdue,it's all I can think about and Hell shines a little bit brighter right there,right then.
Yes,to me,the world is broken.Not because it's redundant,not because I'm too small.The world is broken because I m not able to see it otherwise.