Quick thought. Throbbing, sharp.

[…] Because when you are lost for a long time, darkness is your only release.

And you get choked.

And you cry out in silence.

And you are never enough.

But you never stop being the beast you were born to be. And you still punish yourself with intense wounds in your weakest emotions.

Because the weak has no room in you.

Because you are no longer able to change your direction.

Like a throbbing, sharp beat. Slow, warm, thick, along exhausted arterias.

You are no longer yourself.

But oh… dear… You know what I’m talking about.  […]

I’m Mar.
Head of The Bold Mom.
Promoter and compulsive thinker.

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