This feels fake.
The joy and the laughters.
I’m afraid i’m dreaming and afraid I’ll wake up.
I’m so comfortable in this bliss,
this place where I don’t belong.
Where I’m happy but sad because nothing ever lasts and no matter how right it might seem, it’s starting to feel like a myth and- huh!
HERE. I GO. AGAIN.
Here I go again inside that hole that is so dark and cold, where my insecurities linger on my happiness and paints it into my weakness.
I get way too comfortable and as soon as I crack, it cracks me up and shuts me down, “HUSH! You shall fall and make no sound.”
DOWN. I. GO.
Down I go in that hole I dug where I crumble myself and call out for peace,
“oh my dear Peace, I wish I could rest in you.”
With no response i implore with fainting voice:
“Oh my dear Peace, hear me cry and try to understand that the best of me comes out when I can’t see what’s happening around me.
When my eyes are shut and I can fly to a world that is not quite mine.
Because, home doesn’t want me no more no less than I want myself.”
And from that I hear the voice of he who came to collect my soul:
“Here’s a pretty tricky deal my old friend.”
I sit in silence as I hear my fate.
“I will count the sheep and you will hold your breath.
1 2 3 and…
there there there”
With my last bit of hope, I hope that it will be the last time we meet.
