Synaesthetic//Anesthetic

I was tired of scrambling around to find the good things. I was sick of trying. Tired of lying. Sick of watching the masquerade that played around me. Who was real and who was not? Tick, tock, I was running out of time. Out of energy. Out of will. Out of self.

I was burning to the ground. Falling as the sun crisped my wings. The blood was staining my hands. We all fell down.

I longed for the innocence of a child. The naivety. The imagination that could create worlds without having to sleep. I needed someone to light my candle. Replace the wick. I was going too fast, trapped in a box with no sound.

The ocean was crashing over my head. I was drowning. I couldn’t breathe. The walls were closing in. Wasn’t anyone there? Can anybody here me?

(Is this just another story?)

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ianachronism

I am made of magic, madness, and moonlight

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