these daunting things i started
i watch helplessly growing up and out
i look down upon those ghosts
those ghosts of old friends and times
i say to myself they are willing and
killing is nothing but far away cries
but shortcomings haunt me as if
i was the one who never tried
if i dont do it someone else will
while the identical face nods and features bleed
the art of novelty is dead when ive said
all those things i meant back then
the permanent state of stillness is so close
but i cant stop those ghosts from being me
from being my mind and my skin
when each day passes i die a little bit
and the ceiling blackens and the room clouds
i am reminded each day that i chose this
and without me there would be no ghosts
no torment and no shifting hosts
the mirror twists and moves
myself and now him
persuasive comments grow dreary
i fall asleep slowly
YOU ARE READING
my darkest mind
Poetryoh, my darkest mind, still as you incarnadine me in vain, you behold me as i fall. deeper, my darkest mind, roiling in fury, the fever you gift me, pain that befalls me, obsidian once sharp had since dulled to reveal the rectification of what used...
