The world doesn't always let you escape
From the hell-flames it forces you through.
It prods you, it pricks you, it boxes you in,
'Til you're desperate for something to do.
You're left now without your usual vents,
Your stories, your boyfriend, your tears.
There's nothing remaining that can confront
Your deepest and darkest feares.
So what's left to do now to deal with the pain?
If you don't find an outlet then you'll go insane.
So you grab your earbuds and you shove them in,
And you crank up the volume of your favorite band.
You're vaulted into your own private world,
Where the goblins can't reach the sad little girl.
The ringing guitar riffs are knocking them down,
And in the deafening drumbeats their cackles are drowned.
For some, it is silence serenity's found
But for some it's where nightmares will always abound.
Silence is madness to Diana dear,
And here's how she blocks out her pain and her tears.
YOU ARE READING
The Art of Confusion
PoetryDiana Miller is schizophrenic...or at least she thinks so. She has never been clinically diagnosed because her father believes that mental illness is demon possession, and she knows he would never take her to a psychiatrist. To cope with her inner c...
