Graham

Posted Saturday, February 4, 2023

1y

ENFP

Libra

2

1

Old Dark Poem #2

Some stuff I wrote back when I was in a really sad, lonely place PSA; I am in a much better, much different place mentally now, so please don't worry Saturday night, sitting at home, my best friend is hanging out with friends, and I'm all alone, stupid thoughts, won't go away, silence is murder, is what they should say, suicidal thoughts, passing time, staring at the wall, counting the lines, waiting for everything, to just start again, holding out and playing pretend. Silence is the enemy here, my messages empty, my phone running clear, holding my tongue as tears are fought back, eating my sadness as a personal attack, depression claws at my throat as I stare at my screen, no information spilling through the eyes that hold gleam, silently waiting for sleep to come, my one saviour; that takes away the numb, holding my breath and counting the stars, that dance across my vision. Static in my head, numbness in my fingers, a shiver in my breath, and a room full of knives, so much it takes, to keep still, and not let the sharp points forever take my will, create, creation, creation to distract, that I can't keep my world anywhere on track, the person I care for, no longer has a need, for my very being, which is steeped in greed. The scars in my mouth, the scars on my chest the scars on my heart and the scars on my mind. My ears keep ringing, I feel like I'm spinning, the world keeps winning, I need an arm, to help through the fog, that blinds my young eyes, the tears that fog my vision, and a world steeped in lies. I watch the collection, of the humid air, dripping down the window, like a face and tears, silently wondering, what life could have been, if one little action, had never given in, the amounts of time, they've said I wouldn't have been born, has made me believe, it'd be better if I was gone. Everyone asks, why do I feel as so, hatred lining my arms, my legs and more, yet they don't hear, the things that are said, my mind paints them all, with a thick black lead, which poisons my mind, already so wounded, the metal seeps into the cuts, and never known forthright, why everything seems different, in my eyes from yours, I've always been this way, plus what I've endured. It's easier to pretend. I'm just not really me, it makes me feel better, like I have a future ahead, that isn't me in hospital, or ending up dead