Distorted human nature is enough to change my sense of being.
Smashing my existence into the walls, horribly misshaping me.
Impacting my entire world, causing a difference in the clouds.
I no longer dance in rain, the droplets stab me as I cry in pain.
I'm drowning in miscommunicated connections that have no discretion. Suffocated by the will to live, I exist silently with harmful fits of repression. I've been beaten by words too many times that my speech is now depression. I have no friends to tell so I ponder myself to death in writing poetic expressions.
I'm lethargically alive all night and asleep all day to escape moments of feeling. My reason to live seems so out of spite, I swallow the high to prevent dealing. I hide behind self-deprecating humour to scratch the surface of sad meaning. If my flesh skin was my fragile soul then I'd be horrifically soaked due to bleeding.
My tortured brain is fried in the burnt wasteful matter that is my own heart. If only I could rip out the pages of my story and write a more appealing start. Maybe then my work of art would feed the masses instead of being half-starved. The hopeful state of mind on which I paint my life will always be an imaginary part.
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I feel like an open theater operating surgeon...gather around, my students! if you come a little closer...you can see the painfully honest dissection of my broken and battered soul. Beautiful, isn't it ? You can see the remnants of my shit!
This is where the students get all their magnifying glasses out and start conspiring quietly amongst themselves on how it got there in the first place.
It's so endearing to be a freak of nature.
Haha, just joking. Not really.
Sincerely Yours,
Liliana.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry (2015-2017)
PoetryThis is poetry for the soul from Yours Truly. Volume 1. "We don't read and write poetry because it's cute, we read and write poetry because we are members of the human race." - John Keating aka Robin Williams. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Co...
