Esoteric Online

I feel so empty, broken down beyond recognition.

The me I thought I knew evaporated with the winds of time

She took a part of me with her, a part I never will get back.

So many faces I see in the mirror, yet neither knows me as I am,

Neither can touch my broken heart or open the gate of my soul

It hurts to be alone in your own prison

Walls of which I build myself, my protection became my prison.

 

Which one of you all is me? the crazy one who makes no sense at all?

The fearful one under the table hiding from anyone or anything

The depressed me in bed under the covers, not wanting to eat or shower.

May be the vein me who believes that by looking good no one will notice my pain

The same with the joker me who pretends that everything is great, that we don’t need anyone.

And last but not least the artist in me, the only one me I can tolerate

That doesn’t bring me embarrassment and shame from who I have become.

 

As my exhausted hands scratch the ice of the prison walls

Not even a scratch comes lose from them, so strong and so old.

They have been there for almost all of my life

There is no me without my walls, but there is no me with them either.

 

Every passing day I watch the sky, begging for peace

Begging for it to show me mercy, all I need is someone to care.

Yet when you trust no one, it’s an impossible task.

It isn’t them, its me pushing everyone away from me.

Every little sign of closeness has me running up the hills.

 

 

 

 

There was a Japanese legend about a broken vase being repaired with gold.

That hope, that I also will find my peace keeps me alive.

Love terrifies me, fear is all I know and its become my best friend.

 

When a broken heart is safety love becomes your enemy.

I hope everyone I pushed away understands that I never wanted to do that

The fear inside me was stronger and all I wanted was peace.

All that I have left is a hope, that one day I will be me again.

 

An I worthy of love? I don’t think I am.

The mirror inside me is broken and it shows a distorted image

Of who I am and what I am, pieces of broken mirror

Lying on the floor under a pale moonlight.

Dancing with the devil.

 

(piece is written as therapy to face things and vent)

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