SILENT BATTLES
Diana Indigo@dianaindigo201989
11 months ago
He tries to stand out but well, many give up when they have been trying their whole life. Stuck up in faults, having to blame no one but himself.
It's 3:00am, he's wide awake. Staring at nothing. Overthinking again. Sometimes, things work out right. Most times, they don't. At this point, he has adapted to disappointments but still every new one digs up buried feelings and once again, he breaks.
Holding back yearly tears, he picks up the shattered mirror thrown away after he couldn't handle the reflection of his failures. All his dark memories. If he could, he would bump off. Fortunately, he was not too weak to transfer his affliction.
His knuckles were now bleeding and the small blood spots stuck to the wall he just hit. It wasn't just a routine, it was a habit. He was used to this. Tidying up his breakdowns. Collecting them and taping back the pieces. But it doesn't last until he has to go through it all over again. Habit. That's how it has always been.
He could see the sun begin to rise. Most people find it beautiful when a new day comes to start. He thought it was the universe showing him yet another form of torture. His eyes squinted from the rays of the sun through his curtains. Wow look at that. Another day, another fake life!
He had grown tired of it but his life depended on the absence of a choice. Lying flat on his bed he took a deep breath, closed his eyes and waited for the only thin thread holding his existence. His mother.
A light touch on his shoulder everyday and he would 'wake up' to the bright smile of his mother. The smile that was always meant true love but instead suffocated him with guilt. He sat up and smiled back robotically.
These moments he has control over. He could make anyone think he was the happiest. Greeting strangers on the sidewalk and bumping his head to daily affirmations that never even helped him. Keeping the lump in his throat sunk with alcohol. And hanging with direct differences of his friends.
One moment of weakness could become constant. Why would he risk his battle for pity? Some things are meant to stay incessant.
#poetry #nirclepoems #art
