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


Filed under Death, Life, people, personal, poems, poetry, society

2 responses to “Stress

  1. What about the palpitation that scream out when the heart beging to conduct an inner war? Your poem reminds me of a testament for being in a state of dis-ease. Nice work.

  2. Allow me to re-write that first sentence…”What about the palpitations that scream out when the heart is beginning to conduct an inner war?” I failed to proof-read……

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