General

There is a silence to my soul; I am fall leaves under frost. I feel the chill in my blood, coldness bringing the synapses of my brain to a stand still. Part of it is a pain, yet one I can endure, one I can sleep through night after night without the anaesthesia of false hope. This is my winter; I wait for spring and the chattering of the birds.

By Angela Abraham (daisy), February 3, 2017.
General

I have always been a giver, warm and loving. Even as a child I never cried, seeking to make others happy. Often people sought me in times of trouble and I gave all I had - my whole heart and showered love upon them. By age nine adults leant on me, told me of their woes and I was their spark of light. Yet when my time to suffer came, when my world was a hurricane of ice, every light but one switched off. All but one offered a skinny love, shallow and brief, before finding a reason to excuse their flight. But maybe that's the way it had to be, one light to follow, no choice but to walk toward love and truth. Perhaps the road toward heaven feels like hell. Because I can tell you I never felt more empty in mind, body or soul, never so bereft of any comfort. I have never felt so worthless or disposable, never so wretched and cold. For hours I would have no emotion, only an urge to move fast; then all at once I'd be on the floor, shaking with a grief that bled from my bones. Days became weeks and months, and in every single moment of every single day my soul asked God why I must still live. He said, "Because I love you, daughter, and you will do great things. So live, breathe, walk." Moments of emptiness still come like an ambush, yet in company of a true friend a real smile can return, a real laugh, real warmth. I can't give much yet, I'm still too empty, but at least now I know who to give it to. I know who is safe.

By Angela Abraham (daisy), September 28, 2016.
General

It's like a void. A dark void. A never ending dark void that consumes everything, so your left feeling nothing. Empty. Nothing to subside your hollow soul that creeps in the shadows, away from any other human life because it's emptiness is so consuming it cannot bare to pretend that everything is okay. Nothing is okay! People walk around this earth each day and pretend that everything is okay, and it always will be. Why can't we all just admit that we are just hollow plastic dolls with a painted happy face revealing no guilt, sadness, emptiness - emotion.

By teag, July 23, 2016.
General

The emptiness is always there; I consider myself decent at hiding it, masking it with normal human emotions. No one is going to ask me why I'm smiling. It hides everywhere, this emptiness, in the closet, the cupboards. There isn't any getting away from it. My nightmares seem to help fill it, with what I don't care to elaborate. They remind me of my childhood, like the emptiness is the monster under the bed. I'm so fucking scared of it, but i need it. I need to feel something. I need something to go to shit, something to be imperfect. I think, sadly, I feel safer when something is wrong. I need that monster under the bed. I need it to distract myself, from not everything else but, simply, from myself. Don't worry, monster, there is another one sleeping right above you.

By emhart, August 28, 2016.
General

“Are you just going to lie there all day? You’ve seriously been lying in the exact same spot for over twenty-four hours, and believe me; you look like a freak. And just so you know, you’re getting seriously red and tanned at the same time, which is weird. You do remember that we’re leaving today and we need to pack, right?” Jessica asked me, uncertainly, as if she was unsure if she needed to take me to the mental hospital or not.

By bitingishawt, June 6, 2017.
General

I feel like a ghost in a world of paper dolls. I am the ghost in my own machine. I am a ghost running through time and space, looking, always looking in the blackness for a sacred spark. And all this world becomes noise, a distraction from my task to find the one - the one who went alone into the dark. For should all he be is a fragment of fire, barely a cinder, it matters not, because I will become a river of gasoline.

By Angela Abraham (daisy), June 13, 2017.