“When a person screams in pain, the actual pain is only half the noise they make. The other half is the terror at being forced to accept that they exist.”

― Noah Cicero

I was hiding from myself and I put in front of me a false mask that showed a smile and a happy face. Who was I fooling? The mirror saw the dark circles in the morning, and the pillow was soaked in tears every night. I was trying to rip the heart from my chest and forbid every feeling because whatever I felt brought only pain. A stone to replace my heart that once was filled with love was only what I was praying for. However, my heart was like a rusty pot, unuseful and unused. There was no hope, nor anything to give the spark, just a rusty pot that boiled the teardrops and the morning dew on a back burner on the stove until burned. No one bothered to move it from there, no one even saw the rust that covered all around, and no one had that much courage to just throw it finally in the trash. There was a stillness in that uncomfortable state of mind and nothing left or came, it was just a lost echo that screamed from the pain. No one heard it and got lost in surroundings like a build-in wall project that covered wholes without patches. With trembling hands, without the power to advance in any areas proposed, was just a struggle to be in a world where I was forced to live without a heart. The energy was lost with every step I took, and there was no input because everything got dusted, and what remained was just an empty space. Everything that was heard was just the lost echo that was carried by the wind, went around the world for answers, and returned like a boomerang with the last forces just to settle back to its roots. Only two sad eyes looked straight through the foggy veil, and in that stillness and the dust, from time to time just blinked reminding me that there was still life left and forced to accept that still existed.

“Once people see you cry, it’s like they own part of you. It’s like you ripped a hole in yourself, and they saw through whatever armor you had on, got a good long view of all the screaming alien goop underneath.”

― Stefan Bachmann

I uncovered my skin and I took off layers from my soul, I exposed myself with vulnerability in front of people and I accepted that I was weak. However, there was not the shame and the fact that I was naked, the truth was that I left others to see inside my soul. I opened up and shared my true feelings, I put the swords down and stopped fighting against the feelings. I flipped the coin to help me choose the path that I needed to follow. There was always a choice and once I made decisions, a change of mind only carried on regret. There was always too much baggage to carry on my journey, and loaded with too much regret only made my life miserable and filled with pain and lust. I was not always seeing clearly and I made decisions based on expectations and my old beliefs, thus new challenges were scary and I tried to avoid drastic changes in my life. I stayed comfortable in my place, acting on the stage where everyone was pleased and admired the role I played. I was the only one I knew that behind those masks and heavy costumes, stayed just their dreams and I was dead inside. When I left my tears to finally leave my eyes, burned in flash and melt away the layers of the false self. My own tears melt the pain away and left behind an exposed heart. The only moment I was naked and vulnerable was when I was true to myself and I left the walls to fall and the tears to wash away the pain and the mask. After that, it was no more embarrassment, just a released soul and peace with myself.

“So you’re lost, uh? Happens a lot out here. You walk around for days, seeing things, losing your bearings, crying out for God, But He can’t hear you. You can scream and scream but nobody’ll ever hear you.”

― Craig Davidson

I was judged by friends and family, and I got angry at the mighty God. I lost track of events, I mistaken the routes through life and I found myself lost in the unknown. I was hiding from the ones I loved because I didn’t have enough courage to accept that I was wrong, and I did not find a reason to forget and forgive. I was screaming from pain, but my voice was trapped in my chest and words were not leaving my mouth, petrifying every vowel, and freezing every consonant. Those layers of truth that I unfolded couldn’t cover my empty soul, and the courage brought me exposed in front of reality, completely unprepared. I was blaming the Universe for days until I was able to understand that I was the one responsible for my actions and if there was anyone to blame, was me. The days were spinning in the calendar and no events were still important, because there was nothing else to celebrate. What was left to mark the year? The day I left without tracing back the steps, the days I swallowed my words before I could say “I’m sorry”, the time I let them go while I was still in love? What could be changed in all decisions that I took, to bring back the life I wished for? Under the water there was no echo, there were no answers, just darkness and the suffocating breathing that was drowning me with every inhale. I was screaming underwater and no one could hear my pain.

“No art is silent! Because art is an original idea and every original idea speaks, every interesting thought screams, every art talks, every art screams! No art is silent! If it is silent, then it is not an art!”

― Mehmet Murat ildan

Even though the pain was scary and empty, there was still something that made those feelings part of art. However, in the lyrics and the notes behind the songs, the artist used all the pain and vulnerability to transform pain into original art. There was no song without calling out someone loved, there was no brush that traced the lines without having someone special in their mind. The ones that express joy in their art were usually expressing gratitude and appreciation for their gain, and the ones less fortunate expressed their feelings in different ways. The ones that missed too much ripped parts of their soul into pieces, and others used those pieces to recreate art. I looked at their art and felt the stillness from the surface, and I knew that writing, was also everything that I left unspoken, unseen, and unresolved, pieces of puzzles for someone that could pick and recreate their own art.

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