OLD PAIN | On sadness without a tangible reason, on old pain bubbling up, dying to be felt.
i cry on the bus
why?
i don’t know
i search my stories for reasons, take them out one by one
i want to indulge in them, feast on them
hide in them
feel safe in them
but they are old and rotten, one quick taste and they fade away on the tip of my tongue
leaving tears without reasons
my world feels empty, deprived of safety stories
there’s only naked pain
and there’s nothing to do
but to feel it
