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.  

 

The Last Rose

I write this poem some months ago and actually posted it, but then quickly took it down when I realized I could do better for it. So I changed some things around, and I will say it relates to my current place in life in a way. When I say ‘last rose’ I mean the last good thing. The thing I woke up to live for, being gone or becoming unimportant. This is about how that can happen, and when I don’t know what to do to move on, I just want to give up.

This morning’s golden halo
Torched and withered my last rose
Insanity is getting bold
Such misery…I cannot cope

Tears are slipping down my throat
Disturbed shards of a broken soul
Blades and sorrow hold me close
Dreaming far, of dark and cold

Skinless, grotesque, predisposed
Self-destruction’s all I know
Embrace my inner Scorpio
I have a future to disown

I can’t fix the status quo
Life takes too long to let me go
My lies receive a second coat
Pretend to live knowing I won’t

In Dark, In Sleep

 

 

The dark, the blind and vulnerable

I am where subconscious urges roam

 

In fluid dreams; their disconnect

They speak of all things alien

 

In sleep, sorrowful memories

A fixed unease roots from the crease

 

My threaded thoughts fray unstrung

My secure world becomes undone

 

 

A simple one that started out apart of another poem I am working on. This section I thought was better on its own.

 

Reality

The title of this poem kind of sums up what I’m talking about in it. It’s scattered, like most of my writing, going from one thing to the next, where it’s easy to get lost unless you’re me and know what was running through my head when I wrote it, but anyway…I have a note book with random lines I write, and when I want to write a poem, but can’t really figure out a specific topic, I try to string some of those lines together to accumulate a topic. This is the result of weeks from doing that. The form is one I made up as I finished writing. I just think this poem fits for the time right now with my life. Going from wishing someone could see what was happening to me, to blaming myself and feeling terrible guilt, to being bored, numb, and lifeless day in and day out.

Certain dreams cause me a fit
No one deciphered my silence
Or noticed my laughter had a glitch
Truth is hidden so well in a hinge
Who cares when fresh blood arrests my attention?
Or when my wounds manifest an infection

I still rot the inside out.

Life won’t accept a fragile confidence
It effortlessly mutilates my own self respect
I am dedicated to the silky texture of rejection
Familiar abandonment’s painful affection
To steal away from future years….
Tonight makes a promise for tomorrow’s tears

Soggy prayers in faithful doubt.

I have an aura in gray
My plans fall apart so beautifully
From light to ash, I’m not worth its healing
Solitude never negotiates my feelings
My senses only recognize a sour burn
Thick fluid of my eye growing bored and course

A real spirit’s never found.

I have created a page titled ‘Eden’ that’s got more (not all) pictures from my day at Eden Park’s botanical garden.

Society- The City

The idea for this came from a ride back home after night classes at my college. I looked around at the dreary streets and eyesores and people walking around….I was in a bad mood after an Algebra class and had to vent. So anyway, I wrote a poem about society, and rather than add to that, I decided this one needed to be on its own, especially after five drafts. I’m sticking with what I’ve got, and I don’t care if it’s terrible. Not today….

We hear the city pulse best at night
A train in the distance; a plane flying high

Brisk city water burns my eyes
It’s night and the urban lights taint the sky
The crime- to sleep away our precious lives
So, we thrive just well in artificial sunshine

At the core we’re hostile soulless beings
We stalk standards of fantasy
Cover the scent of agendas in bile
With a good and selfless moral profile

Right…Everyone’s comfortable in their box
A smiling illusion of everything we’re not.

Stress

I decided to write something that is both random and to the point. It describes stressful things, how stress feels, how it looks and what I imagine when I think of stress. It’s not meant to make perfect sense, but it’s all centered around this one thing.

Too many sunny days in a row
On and on dissatisfaction
Its widespread signature; the illness in my eyes
It is the scribble of those itchy red lines
A survivor and rarely a good thing
The caustic rain on my fresh painting

Inflamed hatred of a nightmare
Strangers walking by telling me to smile
It’s when the remedies don’t work; shot nerves
Instincts scratching at the walls
The rigid body language; superior vexation
Hangnails and blood I can’t ignore

When comfort begins to feel painful
Doves falling dead from the sky
It is success crumbling in chunks
Migraines trying to murder me
The vessels will rupture with my luck
Simply wishing that I’d never woken up