“You are meant to fight. When you are sick, your body fights for its right to function. When you hold your breath, your body fights for its right to breathe. There are billions of tiny events—from the surface of your skin, down to the very cells of your body—that have to happen in order for you to be simply sitting here today. If your most minuscule parts haven’t given up yet,Why should you?”

- nt


To know that I’m suffering from the wallowing whirlpool of sadness and you don’t save me

You just leave me to drown till I die a continuous death

To claim that you love me and all I get is pain

I’m drained.

My insecurities have reached a climax 

Anxiety flooding through, I cant breathe

Misery cuddles my negativity

I beseech thee doom, set my heart free

disintegrating into self-destruct 



Accolades ©

My truest desire is to love you beyond repair

to share edges of my soul without despair

My truest conviction is to keep you in my care

even through you tread on me as though I’m not there

My truest completion is knowing I’ve transformed you beyond compare

to know that you are indefectible 

my complacency is unattainable

-Dianne Normans ©

Misfelt ©

I’m bad at displaying my feelings, you know, that act of letting them see I’m crushed.

I’m horrible at expressing my truest feelings to my offender, I end up apologising.

For all the bad I’ve done…

All the good I’ve done…

For all the love I share…

For all the words I’d spare…

I guilt my sorrowful self in contempt for my deepest plight, trust.

I’m always wrong, even when I stand on the right side of extreme correctness.

I did nothing wrong, but withheld that which thrusts me against the ruthless hand of melancholy

untamed misery at the conviction of hurting you for hurting me

a heartfelt sigh of disappointing sadness clogging my lungs, anxiety consumed, dejection as I shield you at the expense of I.

Death as a result of expressionless suffering

-Dianne Normans ©

Dear Diary

I don’t know how to stop the disappointing feeling from devouring me whole. Steadily regressing progression as I replay sad stories of a recent past. I cant breathe. Because life goes on but it still feels the same… the only time change cannot be considered relative is when the relativity of disappointment strikes. I still can’t breathe. I can’t remove myself from the situation without drowning a little more inside.

Something has got to give… I need a miracle, a savior, a great distraction, my sweetest disposition…