just write, just write
there isn't anything holding you back
except your mind, it's always your mind
every day it aches with the silence
awakes with nothing but a shuddering reminder
that there's nothing to be excited about anymore
i see that, but i do nothing about it because
i'm not ready to accept that this is all life is anymore
i refuse to, because i need to be stronger than that
i need to push myself off the ground, pick myself off my feet
pat myself on the back, guide myself through the path
into the greenery, the shrubbery is vibrant and verdant
the trees are stretching far and above my head, the branches
sway and they go back and forth, and they're like a pendulum
steadily rocking to and fro, and my hand is warm
my hand in my hand seems awfully strange
but it still soothes me, still heals me of my troubles
i follow myself into the forest of broken dreams
where there are heaps of things i forgot about long ago
there are books laid upside down, they're left to rot
the covers are shredded apart, and when i lean down to
acquire the knowledge which must lie within these decrepit pages
they fall away into ashes and dust, caking my hands with
soot, it would never come off, it would never go away
it would stay there forever, reminding me of what they've done
what mistakes i've made, what every single word has done to
my psyche, my life, i wish to be free of my own mind
once i am dead, i tell myself, the one guiding me
once i am dead there will be no more torment of this existence
YOU ARE READING
this fantastical world is too surreal (poetry #5)
Poetry"a rustle crackles underneath jackboots crossbow tight in hand she breathes one final breath before he pulls the trigger" you know the drill
