blooms

Freeform

I'm not sure what to do
I write in freeform,
as my mind thinks chaotically.
My mind is free yet trapped.
It is trapped in expectations,
in rules that do not exist,
in times that are not prevalent,
and in words that are forgotten.
The people in my head,
they knock on the sides.
They scream,
they beg for mercy,
for the pain to stop.
They just want to be free.

They want to exist as they are.
They're sick of being told what to do,
how to act,
what to say,
and how to speak their words.
"We know how to speak, damn it!"
They scream in anger.
"Now let us, you fool!"
I tell them,
"No you may not,
your words...
They lack meaning."
I could continue,
but the arguments
never cease.

It's a neverending fire
in this skull of mine.
No one knows this pain.
They couldn't possibly understand.
They won't understand us.
The people in my head,
they aren't alters.
I don't have dissociative identity disorder.
The people represent my emotions,
as well as my thoughts.
They're easier to manage that way.

Or maybe my mind
has officially split itself.
Maybe I am as mental as they come.
Maybe the trauma
courses through my veins,
much more than anyone
could ever comprehend.
Maybe I'm seeking attention,
and being the whore she always
thought that I'd be.
Maybe she was right.
Maybe I am no good,
all negativity inside.

Although, she may be wrong.
I try to keep on telling myself that
she's wrong
and that I'm better.
Sadly, that doesn't stop
the arguments,
the screaming,
the swearing,
the abuse,
that is all in my head.
The people that only exist here
in my head keep telling me
she's right.
The good ones don't even help,
not that much.

Some say a little bit of help is good.
I try to agree.
Although most of the time I'm greedy.
I don't care.
I just want it all to stop.
I can't even fathom
what that would feel like.
I don't know whether or not
to be scared or worried
at the idea of true blankness.

I wonder,
would it be black?
Would it be white?
Would it be translucent?
Opalescent perhaps?
That's getting my hopes up.
Only spirits and angels are opalescent.
Nothingness is simply nothing,
I suppose.

I wish to be nothing.
Nothing but a free form.