Anhedonia [poetry collection]

garden

You live in a garden so beautiful; the colors are so vibrant, the smell is so inviting.
You watch the leaves play with the wind as the oranges fall down next to a tree;
a tree on which you climbed as a child; the same one that made your knees bruised.
You planted it with the same seeds, an aching for agony is what you used.
A field of roses calls out to you; the red color pulling you in;
you walk through the field as the thorns leave marks on your porcelain skin.
You scream, you try to set yourself free;
You run to the gate without finding the key.
Substance of your pain addiction is causing the garden's fogginess;
you're causing the same pain you thought was anonymous.

You cry as you walk on the rocks that you put under your feet;
at the end of the road you smile cause you think you are freed.
You breathe in the dust and call it fresh air,
it's not like you ever knew the smell of the rain.
Garden filled with music you hate;
when you cry, you cry crystals of fate,
yet your mind tells you there's no way to escape.
You learn to sit on this throne made of ice;
you eat your daily bread of apathy, slice by slice.
There are no lions here, it's you who bites your flesh;
you forget about the present, it's the past on which you dwell.

You cry when your temporary form changes;
learning just one lesson will take you ages.
You overthink the idea of love as if it's not as light as a feather;
you expect the heartache; you predict the weather.
You sit in the garden that collapses once in a while;
you love to hide from the world outside.
So in this garden you live in fear;
scared of all the unknown emotions you can feel.
The sight of the world outside makes your skin shiver;
you need to get rid of the sickness but you're scared of the fever.