Sort of how I’ve been feeling the last couple of days. It’s been hard trying to really get back into writing poetry, and write something I am really satisfied with. This is a start I guess. I think a lot about being nothing. It’s hard explaining exactly what I mean by that because it’s really more than what it sounds like.
Irritated; ready to die
My tears hang on for dear life
Won’t my familiars admit the truth?
I am around without a use?
I shade in well, I disappear
In disturbed thoughts no one else hears
To be apart of nothingness…..
Between each breath and each second
Nothing is decided, nothing recognized
Where lives of all sorts are born to die
I’ll keep away. I will not leech
Isolation has a point I’ve reached
When talk turns a weak enemy
When those around refuse to see
As prayer, and bright hopeful dreams
Decide to mean nothing.