Sometimes
it feels like
the greatest act of rebellion
I have ever done
when the thoughts
begin to stagger
when the sentences
are stuttering
when the will
is faltering
is
to choose
nothing
The quieter I become
The further I withdraw
Fading from my own view
…
I’m sick of poems
I’m sick of feeling like I’m whining
I’m sick of fear
I’m sick of caring
I’m sick to death of me and all my bullshit
Something’s gotta change
So let’s change
February 20, 2025
Late night mind wanderings on how I’m a mistake, written late last night, forgotten, then found in the morning.
My existence
Is incorrect
Is a mistake
Is impossible to fix
Is a thorn in many sides
Is not supposed to be
Is not supposed to be
Is not
I’m not supposed to be here
I’m not supposed to be
I’m not supposed to
I’m not
February 12, 2025, apx. 11 p.m.
we
kindred spirits
love in our hearts
so much
can almost describe
tastes
feels
in our empty mouths
…
When I find valuable gems
My fingers feel cold
As I reach out
…
outer façade
still / calm / steady / slow
layers down
vibrating / tight / tense / echoing
layers down down
screaming / hurting / bleeding / suffocating
layers down down down down
nothing left
October 9, 2024
. Hurts .
. Knowing .
. They will disappear .
. Dissolve like the rest .
. Always .
. Eventually .
. Dissolve .
On the rapid severity with which conditions or situations can shift.
That beast comes at me with a new fury.
It’s rabid, vapid, and it’s preparing to charge.
It’s enraged at the sight of me and on a wild offensive now.