Head spinning with the pen, it has been that time again;
I start to lose the boundary between who I am and how I feel,
How I think and what I do—little details and major clues,
Little flickers of memories, hours spent looking at pictures;
Reminiscing about the good, the old, spiraling down the might-have-beens.
Am I feeling too much, or am I experiencing too little?
Flooded by these chemicals, my mind turns brittle.
And then when I pick up my pen, I’ve fallen too deep,
Too deep to climb back again—can't range a valley this steep.
The moon sets, the sun rises,
My mental ink blots are gone, and my despise is
Unmeasured and unleashed; it goes
Draining me of my mornings, for days in a row.
And for days to come, it won’t change at all—
I hate to ignore, but still do it, when the pen calls.
Get back up, I will, for sure.
Cherish my defeat, my flaws, all of this once more.
Once more, I shall rise,
I shall rise, and I shall conquer;
Make my own, and on my own, go far.
Don this cloak, once again, as always,
Though each time it’s undonned, I learn more of it.
What is this cloak? What does it represent?
My lyrical clashes and expressive rants.
To the future me, you shall know
Who you are and what you owe.
This is nothing but a gift,
To pursue the void and the rift.
Me against myself—it’s déjà vu;
I'm glad I could pen this for you.
You're me—don't get me wrong,
You're the me I depend upon.
YOU ARE READING
Chaotically Poetic
PoetryChaotically Poetic is my attempt on unravelling emotions and looking within through the pen.
