Dec 16, '23

Dec 16, '23

— wasted wine.

dear one,

my hands are too cold,

and my heart too fragile,

i don't want to grow old,

this world is much so vile.

right ones come at the right time,

little one, do you not know,

they don't owe you a single dime,

you'll be alone in the first snow,

there won't linger a seamless smile.

forge a promise, break a heart,

this december, i wait another start,

hold a hand, forget about mine,

how bittersweet like wasted wine.

i sold my soul,

to a longing long unsatiated,

i can't control,

the lonesome i have created.

— vin.

I am my family. I am my mothers drunken rage. The one she can’t explain. Her voice still ringing in my ears. Loud and clear. I am my fathers disappointment. The one he never wanted and never perceived. And he vanished, just like my shadow does on a cloud filled day. I am my sisters mind. Her childish thoughts and her loud voice, laughing and begging, and screaming and crying. I am my wounds left open to rott and I am my scars, the ones that leave never ending memories. I am my family.

A life without collecting trinkets is no life at all

My life is just so silly.. I am sitting on my bed in the psych ward, trying to figure out which dried flower I should put in my journal, while I am drinking the cheapest earl grey tea I could find in the supermarket… so silly