Below is the poem entitled Casualty of Carelessness which was written by poet
Hazelwood. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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I splash my ideas onto a canvas of creation.
Creativity seems to run off of the painting
as I try to rush perfection.
I feel the stress of procrastination
placing its weight on my chest.
Drops of craftsmanship fall from the edges,
being destroyed by the harsh impact with the ground.
Stress turns to regret as time
escapes me more and more.
Pressures of failure squeeze my head
and puncture my thoughts.
I cannot handle the weight anymore.
Stress crushes the easel of my mind,
causing it to collapse.
The contents of my brain burst
from the severity of the fall.
Everything has failed.
I have failed.
My mind has failed.
I try to scoop what I can save back
into my skull but,
it all seeps back out through the cracks.
I watch as all I have worked for drains
out of my head into the mouths of
stress and pressure.
I run my fingers across my scalp and
feel the cracks close up,
leaving my abilities to die.
I stop feeling the cracks.
My fingers slip in between chunks of my hair
and cling to it.
I widen my eyes as I attempt to pull
my hair out my head.
Pain shoots throughout my body,
stinging my retinas and burning my head.
I stop feeling the cracks
because all I can feel is the pain.
I want to give up.
Give up on creation.
Give up on trying.
Give up on pulling my hair.
But all I can feel is the pain stinging,
burning, and laughing at me.
I watch as I float away from my mind.
I watch it get consumed by monsters.
I stop pulling my hair and
fall back to my mind.
Pain still boils my heart as I
watch my mind get consumed.
Tears attempt to sooth my pain but
dry up short of the source.
I reach for the tears but only get failure.
I reach again.
I reach again.
My tears soon turn into sadness as
failure accompanies my procrastination.
I want to kill failure but
it’s too strong.
I kick at it.
It breaks my legs.
I swing at it.
It bites off my fingers.
I feed it conventions.
It vomits them all over what I have left.
I give up and scream for mercy.
Stress pulls my hair.
Pressure breaks my bones.
I try and try and try but failure
eats my soul.