My thoughts used to consume me night after night.
When the lights went out, they’d run rampant.
I could easily hide the words of those demons,
Because I knew they lived in the dark, not light.
But now when I wake up, they’re still active.
I try to distract myself, but they keep talking to me.
From whispers to yells, I can hear each one,
But no one else can, no matter how loud they scream.
I am not crazy, but constantly worried.
Why can’t I be normal?
How does everyone else function?
Why can’t they see that I need help?
And I can’t do it. I can’t be the person I used to.
These thoughts have now swallowed me whole,
And I can’t escape from all of the drowning.
I can’t escape from the words holding me down.
I am slipping away now,
And perhaps my blood will soon run cold.
Yet I will still not be free from all of this pain,
And my awful thoughts will never wash away.
YOU ARE READING
Pretending to be Bukowski: A Poem Collection
PoesíaA collection of poems by me. Only posting the ones I find are the best. Warning: many have harsh language or explicit content and may be triggering to some. There is also a lot of angst, sadness, anger, etc.
