sleepless nights spent pondering the meaning of my existence and wishing i could be someone else.

if i could paint a picture of my insides...

Rain pattering down a coffee shop window and ribbons of cigarette smoke curling and dancing along my vision. An untouched cup of coffee, a dusty bookshelf cut off by the edge of the canvas. But how does one illustrate longing with words alone? That tingling in your arms and legs. The emptiness in your chest. The howl you have to hold back, the haunting of something that could be, but never will, and living with that. It feels so damn lonely, to listen to the constant weeping of your own broken soul.

this is our life. until we draw our final breath.