Strange Poems

A Poem I Wrote in Math

I am so broken.
I feel so god damn high.
I feel so god damn broken.
My lungs
My chest
My ribs
My heart

They all feel so god damn broken.

It's hard to feel anything else anymore

Everything is just a stimulation
and it makes me feel oh so weak
and it makes me feel oh so empty.

And I am so far away from heaven's no,
And even farther from hell's yes,
Which leaves me in the nothing state of perhaps.
Like I'm sitting in purgatory.

And you can write symphonies with the silence
in my head.

And you can grow a garden in the darkness
of my chest.

And Oh can you imagine,
the beauty of the vines
wrapped around the bones inside my chest.
And when the flowers bloom the poetry blooms with them.

But Oh if you leave the garden unattended
it becomes so hard to breathe.
And if you let it grow for too long,
they'll wilt and fall into my stomach.

Then I'll have to vomit up the rotten petals
and the poems with absolutely no rhythm.
Much like the one you are reading now.

It's easy to find the beauty in the dead things
coming up my throat,
But the poems are quite messy
much like the one you are reading now.

Because my garden is overgrown
and there are weeds in my chest
and it's getting so damn hard to breathe.

And Oh can you imagine,
the beauty of the vines
wrapped around the bones inside my chest.

And oh you can imagine,
the beauty in this poem.