Marching to the beat .
each drumming one step closer to the end.
You may only hear silence.
but all i hear is the death rain.
The calling of the demons.
they shriek as they attack.
claws as sharp as steel .
as i cut marks in my skin with a blunt knife.
nothing special about me.
as a true nihilist knows , we all suck the same.
but something deep inside me.
it's calling out .
this need to express myself to this dying world.
you only get one life.
and i'm wasting it , sitting here dying inside more everyday.
it gets you , the depression because you're not doing anything.
and the anxiety because you can't bring yourself to fight any more.
but it gets to me .
they .
the demons.
speak with clear and distinct commands.
kill yourself .
no one loves you , you even hate yourself.
and it's true. all of it.
the water cycle of the death rain fills a well,
at the top you feel good or well.
but i'm swimming with concrete boots on .
The trap that i fall into is that the negative voices , clean .
whilst the positive voices and thoughts are muffled by the storm
that brews in my mind.
people in this world seemed consumed by sex.
sex is nothing to me , i don't understand the obsession.
people assume i'm after one thing because of my biological sex.
someone like me can't be friendly without wanting something back.
this is the world i've been born into to suffer .
superficial.
I'm here in this place
so disorientating to not know what is real sometimes.
like the bad dreams of psychosis merge into reality .
am i asleep?
am i dead?
is this even real?
Does it matter?
because the pain is real
the fear is real.
hold a mirror to yourself .
nothing makes any sense when you are drowning in the death rain.
YOU ARE READING
Grinding gears
Poesiathe demons are calling crystal clear calling but the clarity is a trap just to be sure can be twisted in itself when you think you speak with god but its the demons that are calling
