إنه مجرد وهم

expressive free-writing blog. all rights reserved to Reem AL-Abdullah, 2017(c)

Month: July, 2017

/beware of those smudgily lined eyes staring from the corner

she steals a look as she runs all over the place; untouched. flexible in her nature, a woman that thrives on moving with each blow in the wind; emotional and reckless. divine in her pointless chaos, that’s who she is. 

at the dimly-lit joint, where the hushed air stresses the eclipsed moon above to rather hide behind the clouds to sin in secret; so in our fleeting moment she’d hold my hand and pull me just one step closer, but loses her balance a second too early, from her own tug.. she’d fall and shatter in an instant before my heart could even flutter from her nearness. that’s who she is.

but now, the remainder of her is only the mere thoughts vibrantly showing on the skin of her broken pieces, and the air that surrounds her corpse.. a major star fallen into her own core; a black hole i’m now forever lost within due to a stupid glance back. 

..who was that woman?

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i’ve always been afraid of the voices in my head, for as far back as i can clearly remember.

i’d always hate silence, even confused the “noise” for the general ringing in one’s ears in the quiet.. thought: it’s just that, everyone hears this, i bet. 

i recall that specific line i told myself, vividly, as i laid in my bed by my parents’ in their room; alone. i even went and asked my mum a while later for reassurance. i was less than four years old…

it had gotten worse with the years, with the heavy weight of morals, how different i felt on the inside, and how isolated the views of others based on my physical appearance and heritage made me feel as well.

add to that the fact that i used to hallucinate a lot, had a lot of fevers as a child till my early teen years; due to my weak immune system. which lead to the simple procedure of having my tonsils removed. i was ecstatic! “no more fever, no more hallucination, no more voices” boy was i naive..

what procedure would lead the crippling guilt to simmer down? my heavy muslim-arab surroundings, my lack of knowledge and access to it, the voices, the voices the voices!!bb!

they’re back. they never went away. i hear them this second though writing used to be an escape; but they perforated through my last haven like the measly unwanted guests they are…. 

-double loud heartbeats defying the rhythm- 

then my heartsettles; i’ve lost track of my train of thought…….. why am i writing this again?