I'm sorry this is not an apology, and I'm happy you cannot be glad for me,
I'm stubborn but I'm fragile, you see, some things are very difficult to be.
Moving on, but standing still, continuing here but I've lost the will,
Perfectly well, yet I'm oh-so ill, thoughts in my head, I'd give anything to kill.
I know I'm far from kind but I'm busy hiding from my mind,
Please tell me you are blind to my body, as it's cracked and lined?
Messing with the semantic field, although my words are of little yield,
From my chest, feelings are peeled, maybe, for once, they are revealed.
Maybe I'll succumb to the pain, so tired of this stupid, old brain,
I'd never say any of this in vain, I think I may be far from sane.
I dare you to tell me it's all in my head, dangling from my very last thread,
Over the depths of devilish dread, tell me why I'm not already dead?
YOU ARE READING
An Amalgamation of Words
PoetryI'm almost as bad at writing descriptions as I am at writing poems, but at least I tried. Sharing my inner turmoil, one poorly worded sentence at a time.
