Trapped On The Inside

Does everyone have a soulmate?

Is that why I feel so alone?  This emptiness is heavy. How can a feeling of nothingness feel so full that my heart just might fall through me onto the floor?  I cannot recall a time when I physically felt my heart hurt.  Not like the interpretation of ‘heartache’ expressed in cinema, or the word we attach to a feeling so carelessly at times, but an actual affliction of soreness and throbbing.  The discomfort that not even a handfull of percocet can relieve. 

Alone and heavy hearted.

Why does everyone die?

Literally and figuratively.

On the bathroom floor and in my mind.

There is no one to talk to.  Only this paper carries my burden. I can see it, but I can’t do it.  I’m so tired.

Is it the end or just the beginning?

Either way it’s going to hurt.

Your voice was the only voice I could bear to hear screaming.  Because it was beautiful.

How do I put the million little pieces together to tell my story?

You need to know.

My mind is so undone I cannot form the words.  Is that what breeds the pain?  The inability to form words the heart is trying to scream, but they remain trapped.  Is that why the lyrics of a song have the power to unravel me into a puddle where the million litte pieces seem impossible to reassemble?  A puddle I’ve been trying not to drown in as long as I’ve been alive. This is where I live.  A house overflowing with words because I cannot get them out for a normal person to decode. 

The house where the locks are on the inside. 

At least I can write all over the walls.

And my words no one can paint over.

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