Rae of Poeima

There’s this utter weakness within my brittle bones. It’s a weakness that isn’t just a physical lacking, but an emotional cornerstone, supporting my belief that the oxygen I’ve used in my lifetime was stolen from someone else. And this weakness swirls simultaneously amidst these violent waves within me that are too strong. My veins are pulsing, and I feel too hardened and broad to handle anything delicate or lovely. I’m storming through everything in life, turning luxurious memories and pleasures into dust underneath my heavy feet. My frail heart can’t handle for its breath to be taken away and my body is hardened to the summer rain that tries to kiss my skin.