We lie we are numb,
And sit where the pain is most evident.
We say we don't feel anymore,
And accept the blows that came forth.

Sedating and maybe compelling.
Deep-rooted weakness unwavering.
Bounded and addicted to the scent.
The dangers escaping sight.

Addicted to stings of the flies,
That hurt like thorns in the night.
Making our hearts drip nothingness,
From it's dried up bank.

Addicted to the feeling of despair,
Hell bent on hopelessness within.
Not giving space for a new window,
Believing it's our place to slither.

Addicted to emotionless burst of feelings,
Where we experience too much to express,.
And instead accept it's our nature,
Believing it's all we can find in sight.

Addicted to loosing ourselves,
Claiming it's an inevitable, neverending cycle.
We hide the doors to our heart,
Unconsciously in our heedless search.

We painted pictures of ourselves,
As withering and fading.
When we really are just,
Addicted to the feeling.
We could break free,
By releasing the shackles,
And opening our eyes to see,
That we can feel all sort of things.
Happiness and sorrow interchangeably.

Temporary but existing.
Dark and bright colours.
We are very much capable of,
Painting our worlds colourful.

© dh_irah