96 months of nothingness

And it is fine

after eight years to write

resuming writing after a seemingly lifetime of silence

Blaming the stars, the stupid birds around

afraid of sharing what’s inside

blaming the numbness, the nothingness

And it is alright

to find myself alone at night

not counting tears after a lifetime of lies

Blaming the bloodline, the broken glass

between hands

wondering what would it feel like to simply cut, cut deep, to cut inside

the person I was, the part of myself I’ve lost somehow

and I am fine, I am quite alright

After all this silence, after the biological changing process

resuming writing after clearing all worms traces

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