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Greeting Card Maker | Poem Art Generator

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3:01 Its midnight, And it’s settling in. I’ve been home Just a few hours. Comfortable in my home, At ease with my hobbies. But then I feel it. It starts with a tingling, All over; inescapable. But then its gone. Like it was never even there. And its okay. Its one am. And its back. I’m sitting on the couch, Reading a novel. Something about people Who have overcome their troubles. They’re happy. They have no reason to be afraid. I have no reason to be afraid. And yet. There it is; Like a pin prick to the heart. But just as quick as it appears, It’s gone. I pretend it was the emotions The book instilled in me. Its two thirty. I’m still reading. The book has gotten intense, But so lovely. Everybody is happy, Living through their dreams. But I’m not there, Not experiencing. The words I read May as well be blank paper, Because I’m getting nothing. I’m numb. It’s like the world around me Has completely disappeared. I’m alone, Left to fend for myself in the darkness. But the light is forming At the edges of my vision. And the words are Meeting my recognition. The character is laughing. I’m smiling. Its three am. This is the worst of them. It always is. I’ve put the book away, I can’t concentrate. Its dark, Despite all the lights. I’m alone. I’m always alone. I’m scared. Scared to die this way. I can breathe, But my chest barely heaves. I can feel tears in my eyes, But they won’t fall. I can’t cry. I’m numb again. It’s three am. It’s not going away. 3:01. I want to die. Im sitting here, I’m staring at nothing, But my mind is racing. I’m screaming. But, my mouth is shut. My mind is telling me This is all my fault. And it is. It’s all my fault. I’m a failure. Its three fifteen. Panic sets in. I’m heaving. Shaking. Thrashing. A weight so heavy on my shoulders, Bricks stacked high on my chest. Eyes are burning. I’m on fire with Every feeling. It’s searing through me, Coursing through my veins. Waking up every fear, Fault, And shame. Its three thirty. I can barely move. The pain isn’t real, But its agonizing. Its all in my head. Its all in my head. Its all in my head. But I can feel it deep, Deep in my bones. White hot lava is burning it all, Ripping me apart from the inside out. Every word I’ve heard, Every jab thrown at me, They’re whispering in my ears. They’re telling me things That I already know. Things I’ve always known. Three forty five, And I’m curled up on the floor. My heart aches; But not in the way They say it will. My heart aches as if, A million strings have been attached To every vein. And somebody is pulling them In every which way. The pressure builds, Excruciating and dismantling. Until Ive forgotten my own name. I’m no longer a “who” I’m a thing, Floating, Drifting, Aimless. Four twenty six. It’s subsiding. I know who I am. Worthless. No. Not worthless. Ashamed. Five am. I force myself up. My muscles burn, Bones ache. I can feel the knots building In my shoulders. Know the physical pain will last. Even as I force the mental away. I’m in bed by Five twenty. My mind blank. 5:33 am. I can feel myself drifting now. I know who I am. What I am. But the time has passed. And I have a day before I must face it again. I allow myself to dream. Because in this space, The things that haunt me, Are kind enough, To give me a moment of peace. Where I’m happy.

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3:01

3:01 Its midnight, And it’s settling in. I’ve been home Just a few hours. Comfortable in my home, At ease with my hobbies. But then I feel it. It starts with a tingling, All over; inescapable. But then its gone. Like it was never even there. And its okay. Its one am. And its back. I’m sitting on the couch, Reading a novel. Something about people Who have overcome their troubles. They’re happy. They have no reason to be afraid. I have no reason to be afraid. And yet. There it is; Like a pin prick to the heart. But just as quick as it appears, It’s gone. I pretend it was the emotions The book instilled in me. Its two thirty. I’m still reading. The book has gotten intense, But so lovely. Everybody is happy, Living through their dreams. But I’m not there, Not experiencing. The words I read May as well be blank paper, Because I’m getting nothing. I’m numb. It’s like the world around me Has completely disappeared. I’m alone, Left to fend for myself in the darkness. But the light is forming At the edges of my vision. And the words are Meeting my recognition. The character is laughing. I’m smiling. Its three am. This is the worst of them. It always is. I’ve put the book away, I can’t concentrate. Its dark, Despite all the lights. I’m alone. I’m always alone. I’m scared. Scared to die this way. I can breathe, But my chest barely heaves. I can feel tears in my eyes, But they won’t fall. I can’t cry. I’m numb again. It’s three am. It’s not going away. 3:01. I want to die. Im sitting here, I’m staring at nothing, But my mind is racing. I’m screaming. But, my mouth is shut. My mind is telling me This is all my fault. And it is. It’s all my fault. I’m a failure. Its three fifteen. Panic sets in. I’m heaving. Shaking. Thrashing. A weight so heavy on my shoulders, Bricks stacked high on my chest. Eyes are burning. I’m on fire with Every feeling. It’s searing through me, Coursing through my veins. Waking up every fear, Fault, And shame. Its three thirty. I can barely move. The pain isn’t real, But its agonizing. Its all in my head. Its all in my head. Its all in my head. But I can feel it deep, Deep in my bones. White hot lava is burning it all, Ripping me apart from the inside out. Every word I’ve heard, Every jab thrown at me, They’re whispering in my ears. They’re telling me things That I already know. Things I’ve always known. Three forty five, And I’m curled up on the floor. My heart aches; But not in the way They say it will. My heart aches as if, A million strings have been attached To every vein. And somebody is pulling them In every which way. The pressure builds, Excruciating and dismantling. Until Ive forgotten my own name. I’m no longer a “who” I’m a thing, Floating, Drifting, Aimless. Four twenty six. It’s subsiding. I know who I am. Worthless. No. Not worthless. Ashamed. Five am. I force myself up. My muscles burn, Bones ache. I can feel the knots building In my shoulders. Know the physical pain will last. Even as I force the mental away. I’m in bed by Five twenty. My mind blank. 5:33 am. I can feel myself drifting now. I know who I am. What I am. But the time has passed. And I have a day before I must face it again. I allow myself to dream. Because in this space, The things that haunt me, Are kind enough, To give me a moment of peace. Where I’m happy.

Book: Reflection on the Important Things