SADNESS IS A BUTTERFLY (TRIGGER WARNING)

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Submitted Date 04/12/2019
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~ When the sadness is overwhelming and the pain becomes too much, lift your head to the sky. When the butterflies die and the end seems near, raise your wings high. ~


Life is not a promise, but a gift. And not all gifts are enjoyable. Sometimes the pain far outweighs any pleasure. And at times, pleasure is a word only for the privileged.


The tears you cry make a new ocean where others bathe in the salt. And while the waves crash on empty shores, so you drown in yourself.


Happiness is subjective and far more than some souls can bear. This does not mean that all shall end but that all has just begun.


Safety pins may hold you tight in their arms while you scream out your name, but you will not always hear your cries nor always respond. Some days you have hardened your heart to your tears, but most days you cannot bear to listen to the sobs your throat retches from your soul.


Did you know that you couldn't bear to hurt yourself and that is why you did? Didn't the universe tell you that scratches don't cause pain? It is only the rocks stuck in your pit that drag you down.


Calmness causes a fear that once did not exist. Yet when it showed its throat, you bit without a second thought. With the third thought you giggled and then tore your eyes out.

When the liquid leaked from the empty holes, you tasted it on your lips. The sweetness was more bitter than the blood you sought.


And then came the honey. And with honey, the bees will follow. Their stings gave you pleasure, and you orgasmed with their poison.


You lived in a fear that you feared. Like puke on the floor after a night out, it made the whole room smell. This was a perfume the dogs loved.


Enough was never enough, and your hunger could not be sated. It gnawed at your gut as rain against the window pane. Knocking at your door and letting itself in when there was no answer seemed the only way to get into your head.


You fell into the grave you dug a bit too early. You heard your screams of help and covered yourself in dirt and clay. It was a glorious grave but you could still hear the scratches under the ground. You added more scratches to the top so the cover could match the inside.


The rocking chair in your room sits lonely now. And the window screen is still on the floor. The room misses the smell of your cigarettes. Your cigarettes miss the smell of you.


The radio won't play any sad songs when you are not there to listen. They stopped the day that you did. When you gave it up, everything else did too.


Did you read the words you wrote on your gravestone? They were hollow to others. They didn't listen and they never will.


What a shame it was when you published your works and they shoved you into the trash pit. Although, if you think about it, you did look beautiful there.


It's a pity really. You were so alive in your deadness. Oh how glorious a sight to see. No one had ever seen you smile so beautifully through your hidden raindrops before.


You let yourself hide in the pain of others. You let it wash over you and lead you further in. Those pills did taste pretty good, didn't they? I guess they don't make them in the flavor of life.


No one truly knows the reason you were just like you. You didn't know yourself. If you had known how the sun shown from your eyelids, you may have plucked them out sooner. Black holes are much prettier.


If you find yourself in the sky, make sure to tell yourself that you smiled through the pain. Even though you tried to tame it, it was too wild to let go.


The deep called out to you and you answered. You don't know what you said to it, but it gave you a crown. And now you are royalty.


Secrets always come out when you tell them. For secrets are only secret when they are not known.


You had enough of pinpricks and needles. Blades were much more shiny. So you wrote lines in crimson - jagged and majestic lines.


You were your own piece of art and covered your canvas in the only way you knew how.


The butterflies are back now. They love the taste of the nectar you provide. They cover your skin and lick your hurt. Will you return now?
 

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