It's a pitch black sky without stars. You are just an empty house without any properties to offer. You swear it's cold in the middle of summer and everyone says the sunlight stings their skin. But you zipped up your jacket because your hands always freeze. The sunlight never reaches you, but flame never feels enough until it burns you into ashes. The world has always been blurry and your senses are dead. You could not hear any noises or see anything. And the headache feels like someone keeps trying to break your skull from inside to stop you from remembering. Words seem like a broken signal to you as if it's your first time talking. You forget how to feel, like you forget how to eat. You are just incapable. Because you're a terribly ruined person through and through. One night you are stuck in the corner of your mind, wondering a way to escape from this unknown room but how the heck are you trapped here for years. And it's locked. You try to remember good things but it's just your nails digging to your throat like they have a mission of their own. Because nothing actually ever truly happened, just a hollow book and a dried pen. It has always been a hollow book and a dried pen.
i've been wanting to paint your soul with the color of the world so that you can see the magic hiding behind everyone's eyes i've been wanting to whisper poems about stars and dreams to your abyss praying for you long last memories i've been wanting to stitch your limbs to help you learn how to dance and venture to fail your loneliness from tearing you apart maybe if i had listened to the beat of your core how transparent and colorless it was like a chunk of glass i see that's why sometimes it looks empty only when i finally tried to stare closely and squint my eyes only if i was not too scared to know what's inside it was unmolded not sure if it's too strong or too stubborn either way, it remained the same.
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