Row

I hate seeing me like this. Alone and misty eyed. A hole in my chest is expanding every second of every day, and it's getting so hard to hide. Please help me. 

Neo lament

I don't trust myself to save myself. My regrets outweigh my success, and they pull me down like an anchor on a sinking ship. 

I threw my pearls before swine, and they returned them, 

Shimmering. Glistening. Shining, In the sweat of rapture. 

I beg my own self to come out from behind the mask, because the world really isn't as bad as it seems, but I feel sometimes that I can't take it the way it is, that I need to escape. Let my feet off the gravel and fly away. Because no matter what decision I make, I never seem to be where I want to be, and whether I move north south east or west, it all seems down. I never should have let go. 

The icy ground in 75° heat

His bones grow weaker, as the red sky is painted over with dark violets and navy Blues. His headaches thump harder, and the voices scream louder than ever before. His bare feet are stuck in the snow, and so he just runs and runs and runs, because his feet are so numb, that he can't feel the earth cracking between his toes as his jaw jitters a hymn dedicated to the cold air. 

He knows where he's going, but he doesn't know how to get there, so he stays where he's comfortable, in his burning soul running in circles, immune from the polluted air in the wooden city around him. He neglects a stranger's 

Hełłø

Because the trees he stands in look the same in every direction, and he won't go where he doesn't know, because his broken smile can be seen through a peephole in a door. 

He wraps a blanket around him, but still feels exposed, like a punishment for revealing his deepest fear. He wears a mask to shut out the ghosts for one second as he puts his hands to his face, he thinks he can make it. 

He hopes he can make it.