I think there is more to life sometimes than what is portrayed by the person with experience, and I want to find out what that may be.
Like why the oranges and reds of the dying leaves is such an identification of beauty.
Why our eyes swell up with water when we can’t handle the truth.
They all say “life comes at you like a ton of bricks” but they’re slowly being thrown at me.
I don’t know what to expect from myself, let alone anyone else anymore. It all comes and goes so fast that there is no time to even process a change.
My head is wrapped around too much.
I hide my hands inside my sweatshirt because I’m too vulnerable to even expose them.
Sometimes I wish that I could look in from the outside and then compare what I see to what others do.
I feel like a bird inside a cage with so much to say, but no room to make a difference.
I’ve been trying to turn around every terrible thing I’ve thought.
It’s a shot in the dark with an aim I truthfully don’t know that direction of, and honestly I don’t care where it ends up.
The wind with autumn clasped in its fists as its flies by my face.
It’s like the fatal wound that makes you want to fight even more.
I carry on and carry on and get nowhere.
Maybe my destination is unplanned and I don’t really care as long as I get there eventually.