Lost sight of a picture never taken
Lost art of keeping a secret
Swimming through the ashes of another life
Days tick by.
Smiles on faces that I can’t touch, whispers from voices I can’t hear and tears on faces I can’t help.
Writing like I have reads like life’s a giant shit pile. It’s not. This is just a way of dumping the darker moments so they don’t overwhelm me. It makes me sound like I’m bitching like a child, but it’s the ability to dump that’s letting me carry on at the moment.
The lights can’t be on all the time right? Even I can’t laugh and smile all the time, although dumping lets me keep it pinned when I’m not behind closed doors.
Sometime I’ll get my mask back on straight and I can forget this slip ever happened and go back to keeping the real me to myself where I belong.
In the meantime I’ll keep writing shit here that makes no sense to anyone.