A/N:There's nothing as a real torturing place in this work.
Torturing studio=the body
The torturing departments =heart & brain
Depression can make you hate things you like(my room)and like things you hate(Mondays)
Torture Studio
It's me! It's me! It's me!
I hate my heart, when it tells me what to feel .
It would've been intolerance, if it was my meal .
Thought of you, it hammers 20 beats.
I get it now, I'm in heart department.
It's me! It's me! It's me!
I hate my brain, when it shows me reality.
Brain folder displays old memories, at it's best quality .
Automatically clicks on files of us, 12am sharp.
Replaying over and over till I'm in the bossom of nap.
I find the name of my hideout.
On a wall is a projection of brain department.
It's me! It's me! It's me!
I hate this feeling, when it sets me hanging .
Like a dirty child who longs for a germophobic's hugging.
This day, is indeed a free day.
I used to hate this day but now, I'm released only on this day.
On this day, I can work like a workaholic,
even though I'm not an alcoholic.
Distracting me from this anxiety, this has become my therapy.
With this, I will say I'm very happy.
It's me! It's me! It's me!
Outside my room, I'm at peace.
My monday is now sweet as cheese.
As the refreshing air hits my nose,
I inhale more not forgetting to overdose.
That's the rule of the advantage vs opportunity game.
Following the route to a familiar arena, I hear my name.
Nearing my room, air fills my lungs, it all rushes back,wait; You mean, those clingy feelings?
No air is enough in an air
conditioning gigantic depression state
YOU ARE READING
Hideout for the loner
PoetryAn abandoned world a running loner stumbles on, where one empties their colorless emotions, remains of bruised heart and oceans of muffled miseries; is the book your eyes just greeted. "Life stitches dark tatooes on the naked human soul, where...
