an ocean heart

Holding my heart to brighter days yet wondering if those days will ever dawn. Seeing things so clearly for the first time in all of my eighteen autumns; finally realizing where all my suffering has come from. One would think that knowledge is wonderful but it is not; it is more like a dagger in your heart and instead of a blissful ignorance you acknowledge every fibre of your body while time stops; what a bliss ignorance comes indeed. I would rather be blind. But I am not blind. I see it all so clearly before my eyes; the very start of the path of destruction, the very first step and how the very first step was forced seeing I was pushed on this path. To know that there is a reason behind all your sorrow. And that reason not being yourself after all - but another person, a harbinger of destruction destroying everything round them, including you. Oh, mother sea if you could just swallow me now!

And another one in the middle of the storm too yet too blind to see things for what they are. Caught in the eye of a tornado yet still mistaking it for a downpour.


Don't be mad. Not you too.

I'm not mad...

Well, good.

...I'm disappointed. (And sad)


Silence

I'm so unhappy in this place, with these people. Something broken inside me, of course, but I hold the key to my cure and the only thing in my way is these people. Makes me so sad to know all of this, too see their blindness and ignorance, and to be all alone in this cage of knowledge. Little moments that break you into even smaller pieces; those days when there is only fragments left of you and even them scattered across the floor. And the only thing left, words. To be made of glass and for the only thing capable of mending the fragments back together being words - words become irreplaceable, your, only and the best of all, comfort. And writing, the secret art of refining the rough crystals that our feelings are into word shaped diamonds. All my suffering transformed into something better; creating diamonds off of my sorrow. No one ever seems to understand what I mean when I say that I have no regrets, that I would not change a thing about my past. Perhaps, knowledge is wonderful after all, the sort of dagger in my heart that brings pleasure; I am but a masochist for knowledge.