mood

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@kangsae-byeok3848 Ай бұрын

I hate when I drink, when I want to stop. My parents think I’m high when I’m drunk and vice verca. But now I’m only drunk. I want to stop, but I keep on drinking and it kills me. I don’t know what to do. This song heals me, though I’m still not healed. I want to be someone else that didn’t go through abuse, but here I am, drinking over and over again. I’ve been addicted to cannabis too, but I’m trying to stop. I don’t know what to do, I honestly want to end everything.

@szymonborkowski8880 3 ай бұрын

you search the world by filling the above-worldly void in your heart with the fools of distraction, some first comedy or joke shown to you, the beautiful lady kissing you with her curious eyes, as if kissing your loneliness, some unalive tree of feelings pretending in the universe's emotions clothes, or the morning train moving on its course to point B, where all is moving not, but giving your hunger the same old entertainment, old laughs and people known to you, with many, many women with pleasurable perfumes, forests created by men, but filled with bats and rats, rains of nothing new, cries of freshness; grasping your poor, searching heart, always, just always, taking it all dark, turning black... and the movements, the faces, the griefs, the folks' pasts wandering through the streets - everyone looking somewhere, one corner away from Jesus, right under the crows on city cables, before spring, which their eyes always miss, and after a summer, which their hearts always miss; knowing so little, tiny universe, unspoken, you’ll love them, the kiddo, with compassion, all the way, till it all goes dark. and even after that, you will. P.S. [There’s this woman, too. I’ve never spoken with her, though I know her name, and, I think, her deep heart. Its shiny door, her eyes -beautiful color, whichever it is. We’re in the same school; she’s a year or two older than me, always wearing something dark, but a calm one. I think we had an argument yesterday because the sun made me blind to sharing a look with her, and before that, I was crazy scared of her looking at me the whole lesson; but she probably wasn’t even looking. She probably doesn’t care at all, I think. I never believed she would! She just is, she has a best friend (talking with her joyously) and a life, the way of walking, style of being, melody of belonging, somewhere, far away from my village, near the city lights, obviously, always taking it black. Oh, Daria, I send you the bright love of mine, for I see you as one’s, even though you are not ought to read the words. You are to read eyes, and, if you may, to take it light, at least once. You are to breathe as you, choosing your looks and your loves, picking your schools, educating your soul by your shaky ways, seeing me or not. I am to think of you when I sit alone, or wake at night alone. I am to see to it that I do not lose you. Almost yours, ]