Hold Your Fucking Breath

When you're feeling anything less than hope, it's time.

When your "right now" is dragging itself to the past, it's also time.

When melancholy stealthily envelopes all the things you do, I think it's time.

And if I knew what I was running from, I'd be gone in a matter of weeks.

Cover Up

One of the things that I hate the most. The tug at the chest, the stinging in your eyes, the moment where the air that you breathe feels like a hundred million daggers and you cannot help but open your mouth and gasp for air. Your breathing isn’t steady anymore, your head can’t think straight.
You’ve got something burning inside you and being in the freezing cold doesn’t help one bit. Your eyes continue stinging, they make you lose focus. Soon enough, your brain slowly shuts down all your surroundings, you feel crippling isolation, and it consumes every inch of you.
Your eyes, stuck at an arbitrary point of no significance gain so much pressure that they can’t but sew themselves shut. And suddenly you realize that you have been holding your breath all that time.
With abandonment of all hope, you slowly let the isolation drag you in. Soon enough, you indulge. You yearn and long for everything that will shatter your soul into a million spectacular pieces of unrequited desires. And at that moment, you feel.
You are the embodiment of human desolation and agony. You are the crucified. You are the filth.

I wrote it on the 19th of January. I need to practice some more.