UK. I enjoy writing sad prose. Iโm here to explore self expression and be inspiredโจI have ASD and am a sucker for a more direct approach to my writing oftentimes
UK. I enjoy writing sad prose. Iโm here to explore self expression and be inspiredโจI have ASD and am a sucker for a more direct approach to my writing oftentimes
I am made entirely of flaws, Stitched together by good intentions. โDifferentโ, I am and always was. I come across as an abrupt ball of tension. I struggle to speak when eyes are on me, And it all started before I was three.
I have only ever meant well, Though selfish I may seem. I lived in my own personal hell, More of a nightmare than a dream. I want to scream until I collapse. Or run off into the forest, perhaps.
Iโll run until I canโt breathe anymore, My knees tearing at the seams, While my good intentions pour over the floor. The silence deafening over my empty screams. Iโve always tried so hard, With my sanity in complete disregard.
In the heart of the city, under neon lights,
Our paths crossed, igniting endless nights.
First, you said I looked pretty,
Then we danced around the city,
And afterwards, I was thankfully polite.
You said, for as long as itโs tonight,
To savour every delight.
You hold me close,
Kiss my nose,
And whisper โI hope you might
_find me again when itโs tomorrow night, _
alright?โ
I knew these days would come.
Oh, if only they didnโt have to.
If only a problem shared was in fact a problem solved.
Itโs a crying shame, what we become when we arenโt absolved.
If only there was a remedy for this kind of pain,
If only we could do it all again.
If only we could forget all greviances and leave your woes behind,
Perhaps then we could find some peace within your mind.
One day, I hear the birdsong again. I see the daffodils bouncing for joy as my train rumbles by. As I remember how hope feels, I notice a sun ray protruding from the clouds, creating a million mile spotlight. As if the universe is asking me a million dollar question;
โHow could you forget about us?โ
โโโ I wrote this 2 years ago today. Every year, I underestimate the strength of seasonal depression, and how much it affects my regular clinical depression. Every spring, I feel the need to apologise to the world for how Iโve resented it throughout winter; for we cannot witness the rebirth of life if it isnโt for death. There is beauty in it all. Iโm still learning to move with the world and itโs natural patterns, rather than fighting against the cold winters. โโโ
Upon a rocky, narrow mountain, the tower stood tall.
Until struck by lightening, then itsโ people are thrown into fall,
headfirst,
with arms flailing.
Liberation, prevailing.
You see, the foundations were poor,
and the tower didnโt stand a chance,
when faced with divine intervention, and itsโ painful dance.
Reappearing like a bad penny;
unwelcome, and foreboding.
Bringing about unavoidable chaos; abrupt and exploding,
In the name of change, this tragedy must take place,
And is up to only you, whether you face it with grace.
Stay with me, My love. To be with you, Itโs all I need.
My love, Hold me tight. Itโs all I need Tonight, my love.
Hold me tight, Stroke my hair, Tonight, my love Before we go to sleep.
Stroke my hair, While I lie on your chest, Before we go to sleep, Itโs all I need.
While I lie on your chest, Tender loving care, Itโs all I need. Whispering โGoodnight, I love youโ.
Tender loving care, Swaddled around me. Whispering โGoodnight, I love youโ, Says he.
โโ (Iโm very sleepy but just started this and I had to finish before i went to sleep so I donโt know if this is all correct or any good hahaha) โโ-
The beat of the city is loud and clear,
and I am but a whisper, barely here.
In a city of relentless motion,
I am but a drop in an ocean.
Blending into the hum,
Lost in the rhythm,
struggling to keep pace, alone, within such a crowded space.
But I donโt mind,
For in these moments, itโs freedom, I find.
Thousands of faces pass, as do I,
Anonymous under the urban sky.
If talking to yourself is the first mark of madness,
Whatโs the second step in this descent towards sadness?
Is it answering back, in a dialogue endless?
Caught in continuous cognitive cycles, often horrendous,
Praying for another breakthrough so tremendous.
To answer myself seems like my lifeโs purpose.
Isnโt it everyoneโs, beneath the surface?
They taught that if at first we donโt succeed, we must try and try again,
While we later learned the meaning of insanity is to do that very same thing.
Stuck in the constant chase of the rat race, with no escape near.
Yet itโs strange, do we fear the same change we hold dear?
Willing life to someday rearrange, year after year,
With refusal to remodel or switch routine for ritual.
Caught between the collective and the individual.
We are sufferers of the subliminal.
We are the blind leading the blind.
Three mice named Fight, Flight and Freeze;
Armed with anxiety, prayers and tweets.
Victims of victims, fighting the unforgiving pressure of human nature;
Too busy to reflect and too quick to forget. With a fear of regret, yet proceed to neglect our essence, without giving a second thought to, our need to be free or to simplyโฆ
_ โฆJust beโฆ. _
โฆ Sorry. I tend to go off on a tangent when I talk to myself. They say thatโs the first mark of madness.
Forgive me lord for I have sinned,
A lifetime of secrets suppressed within.
My words tremble with fear as my hands unveil what my lips dare not say,
A flowing river of confessions:
โ๐ผ ๐๐๐ฃ๐๐ โ๐๐,
๐ผ ๐๐๐ฃ๐๐ โ๐๐,
๐ผ ๐๐๐ฃ๐๐ โ๐๐โฆโ
Living in sin, as clear as day,
But Iโll never again say sorry for being gay.
I love thy neighbour;
He, She, or They.