I'm swinging at the air...trying to hit something that i don't really know is there...
it's like fighting an invisible man in the dark surrounded by cold air and the ringing echo of his sick laughter. You swing and miss...you swing and miss. Your fists covered in blood. Skin scraped by sharp cold edges hidden in the dark all around you...
What am I fighting? What the s**t is fighting me and why can't I fight back? I don't want to swing anymore. My fists hurt and I'm tired. I'm tired of swinging blindly in the air...
My soul folds under the pressure. It folds like a sheet of paper and I can't help but feel like something had died inside of me.
Cold Cold Cold
Folding Paper I call my Soul.
Folds in all directions like an oragami swan.
That folding paper I call my Soul...
Jake-Braintree · Tue Oct 20, 2009 @ 01:59am · 0 Comments |