20 December, 2010

When fighting is a chore

Cold and creepy

sights of whatever is meant to collide

beneath the unfolding sheets of endless grief.

As the artificial breeze envelopes me,

—freezing, chilled by the scream of pain

soft sighs are locked within the inner palm.

“Stop…

keep quiet…”

trapped in a confined asylum

clinging to the smooth and silky fabrics that surrounds me.

Talk…

Scream…

Countless deep breaths that vibrates the walls around…

Let me sleep…

Let my whole being be wrapped with numbness…

Let me die,

Let me stop breathing to end it all…

But I can’t…

Because concede is not my word…

Because I fight as long as I can…

But I can’t…

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