Shadow

      I refer a lot to the shadow archetype in a good amount of poems I’ve written down, the way I understand it, as the dark side of who a person is. The darker side of their actions, the desires they would rather follow through with even if it is something they are aware is wrong. In this poem I just personify my shadow as being in a sort of love affair with me and what I want. I describe it in a way as tempting me to go beyond apprehension and act on what I am feeling, ignoring any doubts and hesitation. It’s a very odd thing I think, really, but if you read it closely, you’ll understand what I am talking about a little better, hopefully. I am the last person who will or should write about real romantic relationships, simply because I’ve never had one worth talking about, but I tried to write this from what I do know, trying to connect with a different kind of relationship that is hard sometimes for others to understand I guess. 

One tear

Wrung from the insincere

He comes close and whispers calmly in my ear

The soul of shadow caressing my neck

His devious therapy

Sensations of death

 

He grips me and treats me

To sorrows, to feeling

A healing of emotional devotion to the cause

Darkness entwines

All doubt withdraws

 

His eyes are love and lifeless

A seduction, promising me pain

Commanding my passions to follow his escape

I am the irrational, he is the urge

The quenching drink to satisfy this sable thirst

 

He is the edge, the provocative hush

The sweat between the seconds, the unwavering thrust

His warm lips; His sweet lacerating kiss

His severe encouragement…

The death would not resist.

  

 

 

Null and Void

This week was the first in a long time that I seriously thought about finding away out of this life. Not because I was sad and hopeless, and not because something bad is going on in the house. I thought about it because I am tired of feeling as if I am nothing, doing nothing, dreaming nothing, wanting and feeling nothing. The word ‘burden’ comes to mind a lot more often. But call me selfish, I’m writing more all in the sights of having a decently large collection of poems to my name before I die. It’s something right? Even if they all suck and are nothing but the same thing said a few different ways.

What’s it going to take to shock the life back into me? Have I become so useless that all I do is push myself aside always, and no longer even really want a chance? I seriously don’t get life; It’s just me sitting here, void of everything, waiting to die. It’s not right. Maybe I should be ashamed of myself and run with that for a while. And see what it moves me to do.
Here’s a short glimps of the fragmented thoughts in my head at the moment.

To smear the tear

And cling to fear

Live years and years

And simply sigh

 

I crack my neck

Write and forget

Become upset

And want to die

 

A statistic

To sign a list…

Blow life a kiss…

And no goodbyes

 

 A short sort of structure here, but honestly, it’s all I’ve got right now.  

 

Musings (poem)

This is another older poem. I think I wrote this a year ago and never let anyone read it. It really displays how sick I was mentally. How no one would stop believing the lies I told them and how close I really was to ending my life. I have to tell you it is scary at times to think about those memories. I ask myself how could I have gotten so terribly bad? How could I have thought about and done such things? Things happen for a reason though. I don’t feel the shame as deeply as I did. It does no good in blaming myself for feeling like I did and for being as sick as I was.

Shock and fear, imagining
My own created tragedy
The coldest red, my frozen eyes
Escaping lies, the fallen knife

Who would find out what I’ve done?
Unbearable, my darkest want
The souls I’d murder with this need…
Daydreams now streaming down my cheek

The truth behind my thoughts, I see
They will not stop believing me
Exhausted sighs to sacrifice
A faded, lost respect for life

My smiles are not innocent
I chant my plans, from how to when
Obsession savored, sorrow sweet
A hope to grip the death in sleep

I Still Remember

 

I love drawing eyes.  

Drained- a bit low at the moment

 

    Pressure. I have to finish classes strong, look for a job or volunteer, decide if I will officially go off my medication or actually remain at the high dosage I started with (I think I need it more than ever at present….), all of this while watching my mother get ready to take a week long trip to visit my aunt in Atlanta.

 

I feel pathetic. My therapist gave me a questionnaire about self confidence and I think he’ll be disappointed to see how low it really is with me. You know, I’m seriously feeling pressure to do something about this sorry status I have. It’s as if I have to either get something moving, or just kill myself and get out of everyone’s way, and no longer be the disappointment they have to wonder about and eventually lose faith in completely.

 

I think of these things because I’ve gotten tired of being around with no purpose, and no drive to create one. I say so frequently now that it’s no one’s responsibility to keep me alive, and I will say now that I am tired of having that responsibility; I don’t want it either, just like no one else does.

 

 

I call this drawing “Drained”, trying to spark some creative thinking, that’s all this drawing is really about…..

 

 

SA-It Still Has a Tight Grip On Me

 

My discomfort with using the phone, I’ve noticed, has gotten worse. I don’t like to call strangers, or answer to strangers, or make appointments. If we didn’t have caller id, I doubt I would ever bother picking up the phone.

 

I feel as though my family thinks I am useless in a way, because I don’t have a social life, and because I still have not made any suggestions that would indicate I am even interested anymore in having or making friends.

 

I am disappointed with myself for not even trying to take the risks I know I should’ve taken in the past, and should take in the future. I constantly doubt my ability to do new things, even if I were to be taught how to do something.

 

It’s become a fact in my mind that I am very good at embarrassing myself, and even better at saying the wrong thing, at the wrong time, the wrong way.

 

To better explain how everything looks from my point of view, it’s as if I’m at the bottom of everything, and I am unable or unmotivated to balance myself and get anywhere in life. The future doesn’t feel as if it will be hopeless; its more of a fact now that I don’t think about altering, it simply is hopeless.

 

Things I’ll tell my therapist tomorrow……