Literature
Turmoil
Can you hear its torturous shriek, love? My heart is seeping through the cracks and I am afraid this time the wounds are here to stay.
I am hopelessly trying to keep in one distorted piece the echo of my being, but, without my consent, the shadows are relentless and advancing with each stolen sigh.
Tangible nightmares have been strategically and painfully reformatting my essence, going through each fragment as if I were nothing.
I am slowly fading away and, even though I am desperately fighting it for you, I am realizing how much of a ghost I truly am nowadays. My senses are as useless as they are deceptive, leaving me with no guidance at