THE ART IS NOT MINE
I am a rose, wilted by the touch,
black because of lust,
born to fall to dust,
I am a guardian angel,
I gather the pain and cover it with nothing,
this pain trapped me but my wings spread free,
I am a worm,
disgusting to the touch,
blind,
but useful,
useful but i feel so useless,
the grim reaper teases me,
death appeals to me.
but what do I say?
Pain comes and goes.
just like a rainstorms flow,
Hard then soft,
I can not caption what I feel in my head.
I cannot speak the words they're slurred in my head.
I cannot believe what I see in my dreams, tv static.
Where am I?
Like an empty field, I see trees toward above me tangled like snakes as empty as me,
bare- featureless- unorigional.
10/20/2017
So I do have more social media to hear from me everyday I have a Tumblr/Instagram/Facebook page/ and Youtube account with all the same user and profile pic Spo0k1e
YOU ARE READING
Poems=Feelings
PoetryThese poems are my coping skills for the "disorders" I have. #stopmentalhealthstigma Some do find these poems to be a bit depressing or for lack of better phrase, triggering, I mean these poems are my outlet and what I write when I have my Manic Dep...
