Paper
This white sheet haunts me. Once filled with black feelings stretched across in shapes of letters that held so much weight. So much pain. So much beauty. And now, it’s blank. Like its fucking mocking me, to remind me of what I once was, so colorfully gray. So filled with hollow bursting out at the seams from every angle and onto this now blank sheet. Pondering if in any way shape or form that this has become a reflection of myself today.
I usually don’t think about it anymore yet it doesn’t seem as bland as this white blank sheet.
You know, the one I’ve been telling you is haunting me, mocking me.
Only when liquid poision and smoke fills my lungs, does this sheet speak. Only when the deafening silence has found time to consume me. When everything is still. That’s when I give myself the opportunity to fill this void in which I always thought was you. Now in which has been replaced by my goddamn fucking blank sheet.
I am at a constant war with myself. Even when a piece of me has won the battle, there is still a piece of me that is lost. Lost in this blank white sheet.
Only recently have I realized maybe what provokes me are the endless thoughts I cannot escape to a soundtrack in which I pollute my ears with. It’s the pain in the music that silences me and brings upon these black letters that contrast this blank white sheet.
You know, the one I’ve been telling you is haunting me, mocking me.
Only when the silence comes along do I hear you, do I try to remember, myself. Whatever remains. Only then to I try to pick a part myself that has remained in pieces. In which I feel have finally been glued back together. Yet everytime the silence takes over, I break myself down again like building blocks and try to put each block back together the way it was, and I try to remember where every piece fits, and to what model of myself I’m aspiring to build again. Because when all the pieces lay across this sheet, its built back to a part of me I can never seem to escape. It just happens that way.
This sheet is not yet as blank as it was when I just started a few minutes ago. Yet the black remains black. The pain I still feel. Yet the hollowness has subsided. For now. For I’ve been built back up, plugged in, glued together thank god. Why then do I keep badgering myself, I am my own worst enemy. Not this sheet.
This fucking white blank sheet, you know..the one I’ve been telling you is haunting me, mocking me.
This white blank sheet, when painting it so colorfully gray…is my own worst enemy.
My own worst enemy, in which I created.
