Festering wounds.

At first, pain is like a prick your skin.

Like getting sunburned on a sunny day at the beach, with sand still clinging on your skin after a volleyball win.

It suddenly swells into the pricks of a thousand needles. Like lying on a bed of thorns, each piercing into your skin,

                                                          slowly,

                                                                  as if it has all the time in the world, it kindles.

Then comes the hurt.

Like a slow, tantalizing drink.

                                        Slow and steady,

                                                                                it hurts to even blink.

It seeps into your core, you can feel it coursing through your veins,

It doesn't bleed,

but it almost makes you wish it did.

The worst part is the numbness that follows,

its like hurt, but just nothingness.

It just makes you wallow.

Like cold,

wet,

 heavy cement

making its way through your body,

Shutting down your mind,

your mind,

encasing your heart,

making you wish that things could go back to the start.

But when a wound reopens,

it festers.

it stings, it kicks,

it lashes out.

Shutting down your ability to think.

Shifting eyes, tapping toes

peeling skin, counting sores.

Its all you can think about.

How it felt, how you left.

Just like a drug, you start to crave it more and more.

You start seeking hurt out,

 just to feel something else than the hurt you feel now.

You start building walls around it.

but it keeps on festering, under your closed knit.

Until you forget and run your fingers over it again,

and your pain begins.

Anew.

Ghost of my beating heart.

Sometimes I delve into my thoughts like I delve into your brown eyes. 

Listen to my heart beating whose rhythm only spells your name.

The skin on my hand tingles in anticipation as I think about touching you. Holding you.  being embraced like a child.

I close my eyes,  trying to get a hint of your cologne.
Crazy? 
Maybe. 

But it doesn't matter.

I smile. You're here.  

Maybe not physically,  but in a deeper way.  I can feel you. Hell,  I can even see you. 

You're there with me in everything I do. May it be just a chore. I know you enough to imagine you sitting beside me with your legs tucked under you,  commenting on my very move.

Sometimes,  I can't wait to see you.
I grow restless.  But I know that it's worth it.
I sleep peacefully because I'm assured that I'll see you the next day.
It's a sweet kinda love. But it's agonizing too.

Because when you reluctantly leave my side,  the ghost of my beating heart almost runs after you only to be reined by the hope that I'll see you again tomorrow.

Keep dreaming!

Apathetic.

No.
I swear, he isn't normal.
He's more than that.
Like a cool and chilling soda, that hasn't gone flat.
Colorful is his soul, his faith isn't in a leap.
He relies on his strength.
He's never weak.

Erratic are her eyes.
The darkness she holds inside is bound to go berserk.
She holds on to this world
only for the longing in her heart;
That she will find a place, where her life will start.

Apathetic and selfish, they say, are
the teenager of our gen.
For people don't see the wildness in their mind as they lift
a world worth of pain.

Pressure, pressure!
It's too much to bear.
As you ask, they say, why do you even care?
Step into their shoes, and you will see,
Care and Love is all they'll ever need.
Keep Dreaming!