I feel so sick
so sick of it
of everything
and everyone
I'm nauseated
a growing horde of skeletons
in my closet
demons
in my mind
and ghosts
in my heart
I'm sick of it
I'm sick of hurting
I'm sick of this depression
of the oppression
the war against myself
I want to
be
free
can I be free?
have these shackles melded to my skin?
infused themselves into my brittle bones?
am I stronger or weaker
because of it?
I can't tell
but deep down
in the rotting pit I call a soul
deep down I know that I can't be free
and happy
like everyone else
my happiness is always so fleeting
and tempting
and I'm envious that others
have managed to ensnare
a thing called contentment
I don't deserve happiness
but by god, I want it
I'll never be free
and happy
like everyone else
but
I have to be free
I need to be free
I can't keep dying like this
I'm fatally wounded
just put me out of my misery
but maybe I have
to take these shackles that have grown
to become me
and the ghosts
and the demons
and the skeletons
with me
to hell
YOU ARE READING
BURN (Wattys2015?)
Poetry"Poetry...is thoughts that breathe and words that burn."--Thomas Gray "Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash." --Leonard Cohen Poems on the tough stuff in life. Poems on the crazy good stuff in li...
