Posted in life, philiosophy, Poems, thoughts

Excruciatingly alive #1

I run until my lungs burn,

scream until they burst,

weep until they regenerate.

 To know

what it is

to be excruciatingly alive.

to breathe in pain

and bleed out agony.

The surface–earth–my skin–

fear upon fear

that propels nothing more than fear.

The manifestation of manifestation

manifesting itself in the labyrinth.

To exist is  caustic,

the corroding of a brittle question mark,

pang after reverberating pang

from the epicentre of a sizzling atmosphere,

pungent, fumigated air of uncertainty.

Spin into me,

blurred wisdom,

a reflection of the reflection

of a million mirrored reflections

reflecting one another

in the mirrored reflection

of my baby blue eyes,

clouded–

the weight of the world hides away there,

they know

what it is

to be

excruciatingly alive.

-Eva M.M.

This is another one of my favourite poems I have ever written. So I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

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Author:

I am a young and enthusiastic writer, fresh out of highschool and into college at IUSB. I babysit and work and live life to it's fullest. I write. I read. I do yoga. And plan to become. Yoga intructers as well. I grew up on a farm and can't,t wait to move back to the country in my tiny house I have already planned out. Sometimes I'm a little melodramatic but rarely. I'm a spiritual healer, a hopeless romantic, a book worm, and very nostalgic. Thanks for stopping by.

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