Sunday Syndrome..

I wanna run away from the world, just to escape the reality that finds its way to suffocate the very happiness that is dwindled deep inside the imagination. It slithers it’s way into the very core of the happiness that sleeps deep inside of that imagination, choking off all the safety it can bring. Broken does not even begin to describe how hopless and lost I have become. The very essence of bliss seems to just shatter at any mere mention of a long lost love. Webster defines ‘broken’ as violently separated into parts, and yet even that still doesn’t describe how it feels. It’d be better left described as brutally shredding deep into an already gaping hole bleeding shards of glass that dig into the very pores of every spliced wound. A  broken heart left alone in an abyss, splintering deeper and deeper into lonliness. Yet, broken still does not come remotely close to the feeling of despair that smothers the very lively hood nature once held home. What’s even worse is that every one person has their small part to play in this sadistic game. Links build themselves between the minds and emotions of a civilization that has lost its instincts. Blind to these links, we have evolved them into something unthinkable by even the smartest of minds; minds that hide behind facts cannot find something so sweet left hiding in the deepest shadows of one’s psyche. These links leave us able to connect almost telepathically, the mind finds its way to relieve itself of the ache of that gaping hole dead center of the chest. Passion, both good and bad slither themselves into the links stabbing that pain, adoration whatever it may be into the one who attatched the ball and chain, controlling said passion.

The End

0 comments about this work Feed