I hold black balloons at night,
Not because they are nice,
I'm holding them up because I am terrible,
They remind me of my peril,
Occasionally I do get to swap,
Hold a white one in the day.
It's past twelve midnight,
I've been under the shower for thirty,
So why does my mind still feel on fire?
I bet I need ice for pillows and sea for blankets,
Would that even work?
I mean, I've been this way for long.
I'm trying to have a conversation,
An in-depth one with a crazy me-me,
I've got some hurdles even I can't explain,
I'm sentimental so I walk in the rain,
Sulking in the corner,
My strange little world,
Just go passing me by.
My other personality,
Makes my house messy,
I always wake up to migraines,
At least that's a physical pain,
Sometimes I wish it'd disseminate,
For once, if my grief would radiate,
But I don't get lucky too often,
I guess seven isn't my lucky number after all.
This crazy me-me has a muse of me,
One like a dart board,
I guess that's where he has his aim classes,
That's why I keep waking up to the migraines,
And that's why my mind is always on fire,
Nothing stays the same for me,
I want to find myself,
In which ever labyrinth I'm lost in,
The perfect me without the crazy.
I'm always going about in semis not circle,
I always have an idea on where to go,
I just can't go there, not for now,
I guess I'll be swinging it fort,
Maybe until I'm a day away from my casket,
When I'm old and grey,
Frail and fray like a lint,
When my magic is dead,
When my pain is dead..!
kg_asare_🎈
YOU ARE READING
PsychoDrama and Terrors🥀
PoesíaI'm talking to myself and I hope I'm listening, I'm juggling the inside and outside heavy, I'm keeping it from falling apart, I'm holding it together just by a strand, One day it will rip of from my palm, together with a tear or two but now, let...
