Meet Bisma Naveed of A Thought Process
Sliding down this razor sharp concrete, scratching away this deep rooted ache.
An acute clarity, piercing through every ounce of my being, extracting more than is present.
Voices of aching misery, echoing, clashing against these walls of a withering sanity.
Shivering innocence painted over, stroked with kisses of an ugly black.
Remarkable cruelty, a merciless shove, a sobbing plea, a plea for pure and utter numbness.
Tears borne of a plaguing soreness, a helpless defeat.
Streaming down into oblivion, corroding its restricting boundaries only to later embrace them with welcoming arms.
Absorbing this unquenchable thirst, this enlarging desire to feel the vastness of these indestructible skies within my constricting skin.
A desire to own this sable comfort, this dark serenity, to feel it throbbing in the desolate chambers of this magnifying suffering, this relentless pain.
Rocking back and forth, desperately trying to wave away this ferocious onslaught of sickening memories.
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