A Diary From Noone

She spoke but no one heard, every scream seemed a whisper, and so she took pen to paper...

Tag: #born

Placenta…

Who,
what,
Or how,
May impregnate,
But the birth itself is the trauma,
And the placenta is the monster,
Thus mental illness is born.

All The Worlds A Stage; Like The Great Man Said…

All the world’s a stage,
And we are merely players,
Shakespeare told us the secret,
But missed out the complex layers.

You see,
As this earth is constantly spinning,
Simultaneously,
So is the wheel of Fortune,
And like lottery balls,
We are catapulted into the game,
The game of life.

Fate plays it’s hand,
Where we are born,
How we are born,
When we are born,
Pot luck,
Chance determines our paths.
Manipulates our character.

Must we accept what lye’s ahead,
Or maybe choose,
Pick what genuinely suits us?

Change,
Upgrade,
Control our own destiny?

Quit all together,
And terminate whatever!

Destined For Catastrophy

They say that in life,
When we are born,
We are all on a certain path,
But what they don’t tell you,
Is that one decision,
One simple decision,
Can change and alter that path,
In some cases for eternity,
In others,
You may get lost for a little while,
As each path leads to another,
And another,
But the lucky ones,
They finally get back on track,
And fulfil their born destiny,
The luckier ones hurtle in their born direction,
From birth until their end,
But some of us get so lost,
And bewildered in the darkness,
That we loose a sense of self,
And without knowing ones self,
How can one know their own destiny?
I feel that I fall into the later category,
I feel like I am drifting out into the endless and bottomless sea,
And before I took sail,
I had lost every part of me,
Not misplaced,
But lost forever more,
And so I go on,
And on,
And on,
Drifting,
And drifting,
Not sure of my future.
I fear that I may have forsworn my born destiny,
But somehow know that it will be a lonely and bitter end for me,
Whoever, “Me” may be!
I dream and fantasise that one day,
Someone will come along and save me,
But as time passes,
Second’s,
Minute’s,
Hour’s,
Day’s,
Week’s,
Month’s,
Year’s,
That notion seems more and more improbable,
I just cling to it for comfort.
I don’t know what I was born to be,
What life could or should have had in store for me,
But I feel in my bones what will be,
What looms above me,
And it is not pleasant,
Welcomed,
Nor warranted.
It is disaster and catastrophe!

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