Am I here?
Passing through phases,
Sometimes like the Moon...
But no,
I also feel faded,
And, somehow, confused?
Am I really going to lose just because I can't do it like you?
Maybe it's time to go out and turn,
Turn away and leave it all behind,
Draw the curtains and leave the lights on,
And maybe leave the door open aswell,
So anyone can come and read the lyrics on the wall,
And think: "What about the rest of the song?".
Who will come, though?
Who cares so much about me so they look?
They can't see me on the floor, bed or frame,
No, they can't listen to my voice,
Voice, sight or life,
Once, when I won't tell them to watch,
But mostly because they run from broken hearts.
Scribble my doors and jars of time,
The empty cupboards hanged with ribbon shaped lies,
The walls with stripes dug by my cries,
Rivers in the floor carved by triumphant nights,
Why do my pictures look like I am not I?
My room goes deaf, flooded by my screams,
The sheets grow hands that grip my limbs,
I lie frozen as I watch them leap,
My thoughts ripping the fruit that I bleed,
And my despair reaching unbound limits they skim.
Why do the faces twist their smiles?
And the mirrors fade smoke like paper aflame,
Why do the rivers pour in my eyes and not outside?
Like I am no longer feeling day or night,
Why do I not feel anything for the ones alive?
I am cynical,
So cold and filled with hatred scars on my chest,
Yet they never linger for them, only for me,
I feel like the clock is silenced in fearful ticks,
But I keep ripping my nails in the walls once I get sick,
Struggling to stay here for who?
Myself.
To experience what doesn't seem to be true.
YOU ARE READING
Perturbance
Poetry"The chaos is scattered and split, but the order it has is not for us to see." Here is my 2nd poetry book, yet another journey delving into the depths of the mind to uncover one self. The chapters will diverse in theme, yet they will be having dark...
