Do you know the feeling of flapping your wings so desparetly that they are bruised and torn, abused by the steel cage that ensnares you? It is agony and it is relentless To escape yourself and spring pell mell down a dilapidated hallway Just to find yourself at the beginning. Beckoning into your own bottomless eyes? These are the things I carry. Do you know the feeling of walking on nails and broken glass when there is a clear oath on the other side? It is painful and will kill you slowly. To subconciously decide to suffer for the sake of nothing st all. These are the things I carry. Do you recall the feeling of feeling two feet tall among giants, who chant so deafeningly:WE LOVE YOU LYNDZI WHY DON’T YOU LOVE YOURSELF It is unbearable and it does not cease. To deliberstely cut yourself in two only to crave that very oneness you severed long before. These are the things I carry. Every day. Every minute. Every second of every moment. It is like drowning when the nearest body of water is a fortnight away. I am silencing myself because the past is a vivid nightmare. I am smothering my own love because my heart is made of glass and will break easily. I am dismantling my own peace because thoughts spread like wildfire: rapidly, forcibly, deadly. To silence them is a war itself. To accept them and let go and smile and laugh and deserve it all is an utter apocalyptic collapse.