sometimes I wonder
what's wrong with me.
sometimes I wonder
who I am,
what I am,
why I am.
It's not quite so much
that I have an existential crisis
sometimes, it is that
I don't feel alive
and it's then, when I feel so,
that I wonder: what am I doing?
my thoughts come about in the night,
as I lay there, with darkness
blanketing me. the darkness provides
a cover both good and bad —
it serves as a sort of shield, I suppose,
and when the daylight comes,
I do not have to consider those thoughts again.
sometimes, though, even the daylight
cannot chase them away.
daylight is nothing, I guess,
to the questions of our very existence
do you think god ever
wonders these same things?
YOU ARE READING
when you sleep, dream of the stars for me | dark poetry
Poetry"i still taste blood on my tongue when i think of their names, the way their hands ravaged you, your body, your very soul. they left scars that will always bleed, no matter how many bandaids i put over them." x x x a dark poetry collection containi...
