18 and bewildered

Wearing my most comfortable clothes and a facade thank you smile, I don't know how to welcome 18.

Its thought is too overwhelming it's sucking me into my own void with no remorse. It's not a renewal nor an another year to look forward but a dead start. I feel like I'm back at being young again rather than feel a little bit old. If this is birthday blues, then I do not want any of it. It makes me sick to the bones, to my innermost, down to my screaming soul.

It never occured to me until now—so this is how it feels like, to see the world you once perceived colorful becomes dull. I heard them differently now: the once cheerful birthday songs I enjoyed have become noise that prickles my skin and cringe me down to my spine. I see colors different to then: all the pastels and rainbows have become black, blue, gray, and bloody red strands of emotions swirling around wherever I i go blinding my sight.

18 isn't supposed to be this way of feeling mere nothingness and nothing more. no words can't describe how it slowly envelopes my heart. It's too early, I am only a day old of my 18th existence. I never wished to be this fearful, pressured, stuffed with expectations, and suffocated with future responsibilities. I just wanted to be free and be myself, allowing me to embrace maturity by my own, following the flow of my river.

18 should be a new beginning, if not nice then it should not be too dark that I could not get up when I falter.

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