Alive

This room is my prison.

A dark cell governed by darkness I sit in.

This bed is my home,

and these walls – the only thing that listen,

how the sound changes from silence to shrieks in a second,

all the pain they’ve reckoned and all the punches they’ve taken.

They breathe in unison with my fears at night,

but they keep silent, all four polite.

Pillows – the tear catchers,

catch every drop from my eye,

These things are all I have – all that keeps me alive.

Never alone in this room that I own,

This place and these walls are all that I’ve known.

 

 

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Tense

Sometimes you get so tense and emotionally unstable that familiar scenes start to look foreign. The people that once brought you joy now seem unbearable, you’re completely detached from them. It seems that you’re living in your own little miserable bubble and others live in a completely different world.

You’ve become a hermit. Even a trip to the store makes you want to punch every single oblivious shopper in there. Feels like 1000 needles are piercing your skin every second of the day.

You try and laugh and be normal, you take your medication, your vitamins, you make jokes but you know that inside you’re rotting away and one day you just snap and you can’t do it anymore. You scream, you cry and do dumb things like harm yourself. You’re empty but you feel everything.

It eats you on the inside. Nothing you do is ever enough to make you feel better.

Gloomy Summer

Summer was never this gloomy
Shadows follow me around,
I’m on the path to find peace,
But I’m pushed off of that ground.

I was supposed to drown in lavish nature,
In murky waters of lakes and ponds,
Bask in the yellow, all-seeing eye,
But instead, to my haven, I abscond.

Closer to my shrines of Buddha, Jesus, Shiva,
To my false sense of belonging,
Gods I’ve never believed in.
I’m leaving…

This summer and all summers before,
Behind,
As well as all of mankind,
And this life that’s a chore,
I’m alive to the core,
But bloodless inside.

Lonely Trip

A clutch, a clench, a grip,
to a zip.
A scarce apprehension of what it was made of,
I knew it was about to be a lonely trip.

A train ride full of frowns of other guests,
they are on it for the same trip,
they clutch, they clench, they grip,
to a zip.

Eyes empty and a stiff upper lip,
keep all to yourself, don’t let a sound slip,
soon we will all be there, all going the same way,
see the children and the others look down as they pray.

It’s only getting faster, it’s picking up speed,
The murmurs getting louder as they look up to God,
We’re all in it too deep.
A crash and it’s over, no one made it alive,
Indeed,
we were all in it, but it was a short, lonely ride.

Hollow

Every morning is greeted with hollow dents

in the walls of my room and my marrow.

The emptiness with which the day is attended is inexcusable,

yet let it be better tomorrow.

It will arrive just like the days that came before

and the furniture will still stand unmoved,

the pillow next to me will still remain an excess

and I will still be trapped in solitude.

Immobile, at moments the spirit dances away into space

and I watch it go,

It joins all the other souls lost and they combine in a promenade.

They do it with grace…

And I remain paralyzed in the moment with anxiety,

And the silence vindicates and spreads through the sphere,

Entirely.