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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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the blood-crescent moon smiles
with such terror that reflects in my eyes a watery night as today and an attempt to walk out of this ashen skin, cold and dry, almost reptilian, coating the spine of dead flesh that protects the memory of touch slithering in my cells, with hideous scents of fresh stems. mine is like a tug of war between an impulsive self and a self which craves for solitude: the spite to sabotage the Tree growing in me. I want to walk away from this garden, this charnel stench of white blood oozing from wrinkled cuts on my leaves trying to paint over the guilt of this war. I would like to walk away from here, farther and farther till I am but a piercing shadow dispersing the light at the horizon of life into a black door of Truth which seems to engulf me till I can be seen no more and then, I think it will feel better. Comments are closed.
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Unless otherwise noted, all pictures used are open-source images in the public domain. Archives
September 2023
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