Empty

I tried to write about the things when I felt more human.

The days went by like fast paced cars in a busy highway. They were all over the place; messy, broken and ugly. These feelings held me back in time and as I wait and wait and wait and wait, they never let me be fine. They never left me. I just got used to them.

The sadness, anger and absolute horror that I feel in my sleepless nights, the disappointed and fear of losing someone I hold dear, the anxiety of just living, they were the emotions that made me human. To be someone with a heart and a mind that recognizes misery and bliss, is someone I longed to be for a long while. 

Right now, it's just empty. Empty enough to not feel any.

Itried to ask myself,

"Is this okay?" then I remember that nothing's okay. 

It's always been this way.

This emptiness is just a moment of silence and faint smiles amid the loud mouths and cramped space. The kind of empty that emptied your soul, like a blackhole sucking you whole. An emptiness inside I don't even know of I can fully describe.

It's always been this way.

So I tried to write about the things when I felt more human. 

That way I know I really am human. Because emptiness can't create a poetry, emptiness becomes THE poetry.

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