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Prerna Magon Poem
The voices, inside my head
Screaming, while I go to bed.
I shut them off with physical pain,
Expecting to be sane again
There’s a monster hiding behind the smile,
A smile that hides it all.
There’s a window to this broken soul,
To which you can’t reach at all.
The constant battles, with my thoughts
The battles that I lost.
I shut the voices with physical pain
And expected to be sane again.
Sitting here in a chair
Whishing I could breathe the air
Just like everyone else
And be sane again
Trying to get out of here
Escaping from people’s stare
Trying to be like everyone else
Be sane again, sane again
The voices, inside their head
Screaming, while they go to bed
They shut them off with physical pain,
And expect to be sane again.
There’s an altruist hidden behind her scars
Who knows the pain of all,
Tries to rescue a stranger from shattering apart
Because she’s seen it all.
The people, that I know
Say I’m perfect and I should know
They ask me why I cut my hair
And changed myself completely
They don’t know about the voices inside my head
That scream, while I go to bed
that I shut them off with physical pain
Expecting to be sane again
They don’t know why
I’ve learned to hate my own guts
Scribbling on my
arm with a blade
They don’t know why
I still want to hurt more
Wanting to die
Life’s well played
The voices, inside my head
Screaming, while I go to bed.
I shut them off with physical pain,
Expecting to be sane again
But now only scars remain
I am sane again.
Copyright © Prerna Magon | Year Posted 2017
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Details |
Prerna Magon Poem
Am I unreal?
A work of fiction if you may.
The author relishing,
the sadistic humour he scribbles
is it as amusin as ballet?
Dissociating from myself
Physiological responses I do confront
but no emotion,
it does entail.
My soul, was it hunt?
I am overwhelmed,
so much so that I feel blank.
Coping by believeing ,
in the sociopathic tendencies I fabricate.
Is this a prank?
Gazing at the people,
whist paddling down the streets,
countless pounding hearts
of which I feel devoid of.
When will this mess excrete?
A ticking time bomb
Almost lifeless and extinct
Like a myoclonic twitch
Which revives the asleep body
Reminding it that it is not dead
I anticipate a breakdown and fleeting emotions
Which I extremely fear and dread.
I am afraid of what I behold
Assuming it to be worse than a tsunami
building up inside me
tears that stem from nothingness.
Which I did not consiously burry.
I try to cry and let it out.
I can’t
I can’t
I am scared of what I behold.
Copyright © Prerna Magon | Year Posted 2018
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