Trauma.
It’s like blobs in eternity.
Grappling around with trembling or not.
Trembling or nothing.
A nothing day.
Just a nothing type of flower bud.
Just a do nothing burden feeling.
Scrambled clouds happen to me.
It is called nonexistence.
Me.
Has bubbles burbling.
Almost felt like my own.
Was almost me.
But I got eclipsed by some friendly nonexistence.
Shifted like ice cream fell off the cone.
Splattered like the end.
Endless week-long shivering.
Speckled with leftover goosebumps.
No one called all week.
It’s almost like trauma.
Continues.
loneliness is a funny thing you can be near people you know and who love you, and still feel alone.
loneliness is something that everyone feels at some point in our lives.
loneliness is something we all want until we have it.
loneliness is something that haunts us all.
it comes when we least expect it.
loneliness is a feeling of isolation.
isolation happens when you want to be alone but at the same time you want someone to hold you and tell you you'll be okay.
when we need someone to hold onto but there is no one ready to hold you they will tell you sorry for your pain.
they don't know how to comfort you or be there for you and your problems.
you still feel lonely just even more then before.
you'll always feel more alone then you were originally..
loneliness always creeps into our lives when we are most alone.
when we let our guard down loneliness strikes.
loneliness is a illness.
its my sickness that wont leave me alone.
isolation is my weakness.
Feeling tie dye blustering throughout.
Bursting with nothingness after all.
Or striking shower curtains.
Make me shake like shower shoes.
I had a little feeling like grappling hooks.
Do nothing-escape.
There is no such thing as being owed.
My belongings are packed up.
Feeling the loving feeling of forgetting phone calls.
Bursting.
Eyes sky diving!
Sparkles that most can tell you are fake.
Then I heard the scattering.
Lifted.
Embracing.
I have things that are packed and piled up.
I didn’t unpack for a week after that.
I didn’t think that ruined me at the time.
They climbed in through the window.
Each person fights a demon,
No one is ever spared,
But how strong of a monster is never truly shared.
And sometimes, no matter how hard you fight,
The demon is who wins.
Forty years of ups and downs,
Victories and losses,
each in turn like coin tosses,
Raced around the world and back,
The final battle is alone.
Some demons are so dangerous,
That others back away,
It is not lack of caring, but to protect others from its sway.
They hope and pray from afar,
Always wishing that you’ll win.
You make the final journey now,
Finding peace that you had lost,
Be with your kith and your kin with Hel a gracious host,
Give greetings to her father,
Give greetings to our kin.
Rest in peace finally,
You are beyond this test.
Cancer carves fear on the soul
Marking the life in black grief, dread
Words like hope, the cancer stole
But we’re holding onto Him by a thread
Cancer inscribes a panic into life,
Distress, so anxious and apprehensive
Words like faith, might end each strife
Oh, this disease puts me on the defensive
Cancer writes worry through each dream
Darkening the spirit with heartbreak
It feels so terrifying – I could just scream!
God surely knows all that is at stake
Cancer engraves tears into the believer
Silencing the prayers so softly spoken
God will soon destroy this dark deceiver
And quiet the heart who has been broken!
Cancer pens heartbreak in my prayer
While I reach for the light in the shadows
Knowing, deep down, He is always there
While I can’t understand, He always knows
Cancer marks the heart with tears
Pouring salt into the wounds – such grief
But God blesses away all the fears
With His gentle spirit, oh such sweet relief
I am unblinking as you eye me
frozen Antarctica
freezing nightmare blankets
A nuclear Hiroshima
reflects like ice cold water,
ever still with repetitions
Movements replaced with OCD.
Terror comes with fleeing.
Hurts like potions.
Made into a grid or spreadsheet.
Turn on the stove light.
Like empty shells.
Tempting like hanging out and being bored.
Melting bones, trembling, thumbtack stuck.
And measuring my thoughts a bit.
So I was bored in a circle.
The measuring cups.
Just like he used to.
Run into the street.
As if there was an iridescence there.
I made my life into a grid.
Just like spiciness doesn’t stop.
Rushed, rushed, rushed.
Gasping as if there’s such thing.
If a potion could make me fall?
Maybe I would pass out for no reason.
So my life is a measuring cup!
Again.
I don’t know what fills me.
The feeling of a speck of dirt passing by made me blush.
He talks to me.
Ode to my bipolar brain
Creativity is my favorite thing
Despite a memory so short
And ADHD of course
Poetry is a sign I’m insane!
You were a remnant
from the hurricane,
blowing into my life
suddenly,
like a refugee
on storm~tossed
waves of destruction.
Flooding my life
with category five
winds of desire,
leaving me wrecked,
naked and bare,
like old driftwood
on the beach of despair.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
cool moist overcast,
misty mindless doubts run past;
unsettling future.
under lake darkness,
creatures lurk below and sneak;
my mind exhausted.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I said a lot to myself
Without spitting any words.
I created the world where
Talking is a waist
But thinking is a curse.
No body heard me talking
But I said a lot to myself.
I traveled over mountains
Even the skies were beneath my fit
But soul and flesh was there with
Everyone.
I've seen a lot and I kept talking
But no one heard me, until I was quite.
I felt craziness in me
But I realized that I'm not
Alone in this curse.
Most people failed on this subject
And end up in a ward with high walls
but I've mastered the art of soul
Searching.
Continued with the conversation
In my mind.
Laughing is norm
And silent cries filled with hope.
Questions asked but
Answers are minimal.
All I can do is to overcome
Overthinking be normal
Like everyone and every body else.
Overthinking is a curse...
A place,
Elusive and ever leeching,
One thing to the next
Mind’s eye never reaching,
To hold it in my hands
My thoughts impeaching,
Release the intent,
Begin again with no indent.
To walk is fleeting,
A thought is madness,
To strive is bleating,
And love is sadness.
Reignite in a hope
But the ground is false,
Despair settles in,
Oh my dear friend.
To be,
Put all else on a boat
Anchored, and will not leave,
To a place so remote
Alone, naught I receive,
Swimming out to sea
Until strength fades and dream,
Into the chaos of the storm
Just breathe and be me.
Lost, unequipped and worn
Let the waves take heed,
To live is a loss,
To lose is a gain,
To be and attain with mind untorn.
Will I find what I seek,
If I don’t, who will mourn?
The piano rushing with water.
Cramping hands and nothing feelings.
I used to have my mind.
Now it’s unleashed like a groggy mess.
Like spines being tangled up.
Teeth teeter tottering.
Clamming up like a tree wants to do, but can’t.
He really wants to slip away from the wind.
Drums and cymbals.
Eyes lifting like a garage door.
And stuck.
No one leaves.
No one would leave me.
Even the lonely guy playing the triangle.
The trilling isn't an instrument at all.
Sounds like a sudden exhaustion.
So I was late that day.
They don’t take attendance unless I’m gone and trapped.
I love music for no reason at all.
The piano burst through.
Unleashed.
Drums and cymbals.
Exhaustion.
Exhaustion.
Instead of pacing in circles.
With that drumming feeling.
Feel your feet undoing themselves.
Evasion.
Everyone has burdens.
Hands used to weed the garden.
Are useless when-
The garden is perfect.
Instead of pacing in circles.
Why not pack luggage?
And the luggage flies out the window.
So I am grateful.
Instead of pacing in circles.
In circles.
In squares.
And other dimensions that make me hushed.
I like to drum my hands against the wall.
And the wall is made of air.
Everyone has burdens.
And they take us on an adventure.
With that drumming feeling.
Scrapping like a brick.
It’s like my eyes are attached.
And so are other organs.
Instead of pacing in circles.
Do your homework.
But…
That’s made of nothing.
If you walk down the streets where others
brush away all the dead orange leaves
Leaving behind just faded street colors
An expiration of winded up diseases
There's no time for reflection in this heat
They all walk silently and to a random beat
I can't see the souls in grey marble eyes
I wish to see the pain in where cradling lays
But all I can see is a faded me
like autumn wet leaves
In mirrors caught on sleeves
Coughing up, drinking too much,
finding it hard to breathe......
Street lights illuminate open curtains
disrupting the dreams of the sleeping,
Mr Jones & the bar's cliche closing
are so extreme and rowdy...
An un-focused path to dead-gone heresy.
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