i always wanted to be sick ever since i could remember, i crave for the unconditional affection that came with the fact of being ill. i loathe for the soft hands caressing my flesh and soothing words guiding me into neverland.
i never once thought that being sick come with such pain, those two things have never cross my mind as inseparable pair. i want to be sick, not in pain. but i was late to realize that.
my cravings to be sick has become so unbearable as i was practically begging on God’s feet and made it my reality, not knowing a sick mind will eventually followed by a sick body.
i can’t bring myself to remember when did the desire to be sick quite literally made me sick of life, sick of breathing, sick of caring, i am sick of everything especially myself.
as my blood turn into poison failing my broken heart, i am falling back and forward into the darkness. my already infested brain slowly shut down my organ one by one, i can no longer see color as my eyes went blind from hatred, my heart no longer felt the warmth of love, my skin shedding from disappointment i had towards my own decision, my lungs barely catching any breath begging me to stop.
as i turned into void, i look around and see that i am sucking the love out of everyone like a plague. the soft hands reaching out to save me are hard and stern out of desperation, their eyes flashy like it could break at any moment i showed a sign of giving up, their mouth knitting chains of prayer for God to give me one more hope.
the illness i crave so deeply has become nauseating, and before i realized i am screaming in pain wanting this to stop.
but it was too late for me to escape this agony, i created my very own hell with no route to escape. i kept thinking maybe if my own self hatred wasn’t so blinding, maybe if i forgave and let go of things earlier, i could have fled from my doom. but how can one learn to be peaceful when chaos is all they ever knew?
i think my fate is losing its patience… i think the ground is pulling me down… i think my life is losing momentum… i think my ways are wearing me down… but if i gave up on being pretty, i wouldn’t know how to be alive.
— mitski ; brand new city.
