Archive.
Another heartbreak to put in the archive. Same usual story, the heart couldn't take the pain and started to shatter. People say words can't hurt you, can't touch you, and can't effect you, but to me, words hurt more than punches and kicks. A word doesn't need to be an insult in order to be hurtful.
Sun light kisses the wall as it makes its way through the gap in the curtains and finds its place upon his pale face among the darkness as he stares out into blank space, wishing that nightmares weren't so painful and that reality wasn't so nightmarish. He spoke to her, again, and it hurt him, again. He feels invisible to the world, but he doesn't care. He is only worried that he is invisible to her. If she doesn't see him or consider him to be anything more than ordinary, something better than special, then he doesn't exist.
Existence is just another word suffering.
The whole world could go burn and disappear and he wouldn't mind, because the world never cared about him. But she did, once, long ago, years ago. Months go by and he still feels like a ghost, a spectre of absence reflecting what used to be a lover - an ex that is still in love with a girl that doesn't want to be with him.
Impossible love is just another term for poison.
Is it possible to die of hyperthermia caused by sadness? He feels cold, he feels like there is an iceberg inside his heart that is freezing him to his core, and he could feel the chills of the ice in the marrow of his bones, in the heart of his soul. Avalanche of depression, glacier of self-hate, snowstorm of detachment. Snow. A name for a queen, and a word of heartbreak.
Another heartbreak to put in the archive. Same usual story, the heart couldn't take the pain and started to shatter. People say words can't hurt you, can't touch you, and can't effect you, but to me, words hurt more than punches and kicks. A word doesn't need to be an insult in order to be hurtful.
Sun light kisses the wall as it makes its way through the gap in the curtains and finds its place upon his pale face among the darkness as he stares out into blank space, wishing that nightmares weren't so painful and that reality wasn't so nightmarish. He spoke to her, again, and it hurt him, again. He feels invisible to the world, but he doesn't care. He is only worried that he is invisible to her. If she doesn't see him or consider him to be anything more than ordinary, something better than special, then he doesn't exist.
Existence is just another word suffering.
The whole world could go burn and disappear and he wouldn't mind, because the world never cared about him. But she did, once, long ago, years ago. Months go by and he still feels like a ghost, a spectre of absence reflecting what used to be a lover - an ex that is still in love with a girl that doesn't want to be with him.
Impossible love is just another term for poison.
Is it possible to die of hyperthermia caused by sadness? He feels cold, he feels like there is an iceberg inside his heart that is freezing him to his core, and he could feel the chills of the ice in the marrow of his bones, in the heart of his soul. Avalanche of depression, glacier of self-hate, snowstorm of detachment. Snow. A name for a queen, and a word of heartbreak.
