My insides crave desolation desperation inside,
these emotions are nothing short of an edge that I want to jump off.
Caught off in the emotions that swirl around me,
I was in the eye of the storm, but storm is forlorn.
Its inside of me but I can't get it out of me.
Tie me down because that's where I belong.
I can't hone the idea of being anything else other than pain.
I can't abstain from the feeling of wanting to put a buckshot to my mind.
To blow it all away like a dandelion in a slight summer's breeze
I wheeze at the thought of healing but most of it is already healed.
I am just ghosting through the anger,
I am in danger of falling off right back where I crawled out shovel in hand.
I can't withstand the screaming in my mind that wants to tie back down there.
I am a fake, a façade, an illusion, I am not a person, I am not a human, I am an alien.
I don't belong anywhere but the shadow.
I am out of my mind.
I am so fucking tired of saying that I will be okay,
That everything will be fine.
I Have been fake to myself.
A hell within.
A character to play I am Ona.
I am a ride or die.
Or maybe I am just lying.
Riding the fine line of the lie that I've always been fine
but I am not fine.
Sure, I have let go of the trauma within but more just keeps compiling onto of me like laundry awaiting to be washed but never is.
The clothes they pile, and they pile miles higher than I can see.
They become trees and roots that sink deep into my soul.
Behold the darkness that rises like flames.
I can't extinguish this fire, this flame of depression.
This destruction that grows and grows.
It brings holes it brings darkness into my light rays.
It fills my mind with haze and sticks me in a maze in my thoughts.
OH, I can't make it end,
I can't pretend.
I can't win.
I want to give up,
I want to stop.
The dancing causes my legs to burn.
I can't turn around,
All I want to do is run into the darkness of the hallway.
Where my voice is only an echo
Where my thoughts are only a mere illusion
Where I don't exist.
Where Ona finds some solace
But the solace is only solemn silence.
In hindsight I have nothing but the pain that molded me.
How can I get away from what I retreat into?
YOU ARE READING
Ona Aria's Poetry Collection (2022-2024)
PoetryThe 4th or 5th Poetry book that I have made on here since dealing with life and how I cope with things. Poetry Spoken Word has helped immensely with trying to get out what my soul needs to say. It's been the most therapeutic coping mech that I have.
