cigarettes and whiskey.

why does the grass fold beneath the force of wind
is it fair for the waves to crush the rocks into thousands of pieces
does the sun have to set fire to forests
is it necessary for earth to devour acres of living things
why do volcanos kill islands
is it fair for icebergs to drown ships
is it necessary for hunters to hunt

i take a sip of the whiskey
and sigh

the sky is dark
the moon is gone

another sip
and i kill
killing my soul
i just can’t figure out why does everything hurt
i light up a cigarette
i killed the last one
put it with the others
used up
dead
like people

the stars are dim

another bottle is gone
i keep suffocation this soul of mine
i have been watching it break
by the hand of these dead people
every
single
day

the trees are restless
no birds are singing tonight

another cigarette

i had decided
enough is enough
i’d rather kill it myself
alone
piece by piece
scar it
drown it
scorch it
alone
in the dark
so that they cannot see

they are already dead

as am i.

Going away.

Mars is good.
I should move there.
No traffic
no burnt milk in my coffee
no queues for the bakery.
I wouldn’t have to cut corners to rush for work,
because walls wouldn’t exist there, just air.
I wonder whether I could get rid of the mental blocks as well.
There would be no one to watch me,
so I wouldn’t need all these expensive clothes.
I could write my own books with a stick in the sand
the next day they would be carried away by the wind
and I could start over
fix what needed fixing.
Just like my life.
There would be no clock to pull me away from my dreams
so mornings would be as long as I need them to be.
I would make a home in different caves every now and then
for free.
If I tripped and fell
I could stay down for a while
and that would be okay.
Yes, maybe I should move.

Confession.

How am i supposed to help you when I can’t help myself? How am I supposed to tell you what to do or where to go, when i don’t have a clue where I should even be.

You ask for my help and i give it. I give it all every time a person like you wants a shoulder to cry on.

But I gave it all.

There is nothing left but an empty heart.

I have no soul anymore. I sold it to the people who needed it “more”. I sold my love to them, my hopes and happiness, because they didn’t have these things.

Now I have nothing and people complain why I am such a bitch instead of sharing what I once gifted to them. I never complained, never cried and never asked for help when I needed it the most.

Why are you here now, when it’s too late? Why are you watching me in the white restriction shirt? Why are you in my room?

Go away. I don’t need you anymore. It’s too late. I don’t have a soul and I’ve lost my sense along my road to here. I have nothing. So I’m sitting in my room with a white restriction shirt and you are all watching. Why? Why now? There’s nothing more to take from me. I have nothing left. I am just sitting here, wondering why are you so late.

~Theo