Ice Breaker
Or what happens when you use depression as a tool to write.
The creative brain works
By suckling on suffering
And slipping, falling
Into disassociative states
Where the world becomes rubbers
And the rules are fluid.
Never existed in the first place.
The artist's eye captures the scene
Through blurry, watery edges
And the squint
Only a hard hangover brings.
When the reflection doesn't register
To the eye
The process has begun.
Without suffering the words don't come
So what is a little more?
What is a little indulgence?
Dangerous.
.
My edges burn.
The crinkling, sizzling pain
Eating at the peeling flaps of my skin
Is barely enough to land on my radar.
I haven't bled enough.
Haven't even cried.
The indulgence became gluttony
And the gluttony became addiction.
The words won't come because the pain
Hasn't broken me yet.
It hasn't cracked the ice.
But I've got a hammer now.
The ice will break.
It will.
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About the Creator
Silver Daux
Writer of the dark! Think of it like flipping rocks, the weird little stories underneath are my jam and jelly. Jam and butter? Just jam. Absolutely no use of AI in any of my works :)
Ah, also:
Tiktok/Insta: harbingerofsnake
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