Maybe I’ve been away from my journal too long.
Those random, dark, annoying thoughts crowding my head are now turning the conduits sour. Cutting circulation. Making me wonder why I picked up a pen in the first place. Sliding a sharp knife between the ribs that isn’t felt until it’s in to the hilt. This isn’t limb severing. It’s core damage. It’s cheek muscles hurting from holding back tears. It’s feeling your rib cage shudder from silent sobbing. It’s past any comfort point.
Tear my heart out of my chest as it still beats and slice through the ties. It might feel better then. At least the hurt would ease.
Nothing goes deep enough, dark enough, true enough.
Truth only speaks in the whispers of time.