II am seeking refuge
at my Talibunny's mummy house
I am helpless like a child,
unable to look after myself,
after failing to stop
my own torture for several months.
I am being held as captive at
Talibunny's mummy of me.
If she won't manage to breake me
and restore me to the the size of the
daughter she wanted,
she might destroy me.
I know she can.
I love her,
Yet I am so scared of her.
she is so firm minded,
stubborn, as I am.
sometimes I'm afraid case between
us is an either-or situation.
a battle of Identity, of life.
It either her or me.
Either I breake lose from her firm grip
or I shall extinct.
I might not feel like I have right to exist
as the broken shell that I am.
I am nothing.
without her.
I am everything for her.
worst thing about depression
is being unable
to really want something.
or making any decision.
Simply, I shut myself down.
I close myself in this little black room
I hate so much, unable to fight life back.
Unable to believe there are
some good people
out there.
What is good anyway?
People are only doing what
is good for themselves anyway,
anyhow.
and I have
lost faith in myself,
in world,
in life,
almost in anything.
so I am giving my shoutout to this
outer world
I don't believe or trust,
wondering if world can hear me.
Or I'm talking to myself, as I'm so used to.
and really, no one is out there listening.
if there is anyone out there that cares
enough to save me
when lives of so
many people,
all special
are lost silently, at void,
at those black little rooms I hate so much.
sitting silently at the bottom of the well I can hear
the echoes of those people shouting, crying in despair.
Their voices reach me as starlight touches earth:
by the time their echoes touch my ears,
those people are no longer alive.
How can I save anyone from
oblivion when I am unable
to salvate myself?
why not lay down
and give in to the great sea of silence?
There is no reason
in the struggle for survival.
Nothing is rational about it.
People stay alive because they can.
Because we are animals.
and any animal wants to survive.
There was a phyciatrist named David Layng.
He wrote about Orpha,
a part of the soul that choose to stay alive at
any cost, any chance.
Maybe I believe in THAT.
But I am trying to cut down
on reasoning, rationalizing everything.
I want to fix this body I tortured so much.
Go back to be this girl who was called beautiful.
I want to be able to love, and be loved in return.
If there is some good and some justice in this world,
It is my wish, my hope, my dream that I can find it.
That this is only temporary. That I do have some strength and power
inside my soul, even if I can't see it.
The broken wand is in my hand.
There is nothing I fear of
as much as I fear my own self.
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