"I write, therefore, I am."who I am what I feel what I write what I see ask me
There is a man standing
on a mountain, feet laid
bare, holes in his hands.
Blameless, with a crown
of thorns. He asked us
to have faith like a
mustard seed and showed
us how to love. With his
last breath he gave
his Father the glory
and said my name.
what is keeping me from slipping further into this hellhole?
what right have I to stop myself from slitting my wrists?
what sort of oxymoronic idea is saving oneself from oneself?
I really like this answer to the post I just made.
I wrote, Why is it that sometimes the people you love the most make you feel the worst?
and this person responded, Because you hold them so high sometimes, that it’s a far drop down when they let go.
"there is only one thing we say to death: ‘not today’"