Allergy

I wrote this at a low moment, but ended on a high. I'm not sure what to make of my emotions. But instead of wallowing I've decided to curve into my art.

When we are pulled so uncontrollably by the yanking chain of another; pieces of one’s mind dies. Not the beautiful joy of a cold death; but those of sleepless tremors and screams against the ache of its own body. How do you cure the self-loathing of a broken spirit?  With the heart abandoned, it has surrendered itself so long ago. When one who was raised in-between gusts of wind finds a steady breathe to nestle so sweetly into. The actions of one’s captor, breeds wounds in the skin of her flesh. The pondering of entangling with another; drives the soul deeper away. No tears change the pain no outcry woes to our love, can defeat the love of many. See nor man or women is immune to this suffering. There are only two kinds of people in this world; the one who is born to love and those living to be loved. Restless hearts never die lonely; this breed of monster is free to love any. But the rupture of the ones they love suffer within the whimpers of the wind; lonely and only comforted by memories of hope. And those distant lullaby songs that make death a happy adventure. Burdened by God, suicide is shameful, drunkenness a weakness only tolerated among artists.  And with no courage to plunder and enjoy it’s body. Left is one hope to only live as a silent sufferer. This portrait is both strength and grace, yet this gift is not free; you must accept this path and become empty. 

Author's Note

This is nor about new love or old. But about people and my observation. Please do not mark me as a writer on suicide watch I simply find humans to be disgusting.