Tag Archives: poem

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

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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.

 

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Decay

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.

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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

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