I don't know where it comes from,
this think called writers block.
It's not like I'm being rushed,
or held against the clock.
A word is a word is a word.
That's what I was taught.
A poem starts with a single word,
and help from a little thought.
They make it sound so easy,
Put together rhythm and sound.
But when i have no topic,
my thoughts just float around!
Around, around, around they float
but never in an order.
A dollar for my thoughts you think?
Or maybe just a quarter?
A quarter could be all their worth,
for nothings in my head.
maybe I'm thinking far too fast?
maybe its all in my head.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
Craving: Car-Rave-Ing: N;
1) An obsessive need or want for something.
2) To crave; a desire to have something right away.
Needless to say, I'll go another few minutes, hours, days, with what my therapist calls "a craving." It makes my skin crawl, my jaw clench, my heart race, I become restless. At that point, it's no longer mental.
All of my dreams are consumed by my own definition of happiness, no, ecstacy. But because my definition doesn't correlate with the american dream, my happiness must end in what they call "sobriety" and I have to deal with what my therapist calls "a craving."
The yellow bird I once had flew away, and like a light switch, emotion took it's place. I now have to feel which has always been, since day one, the exact reason I crave another reality. One like Alice In Wonderland, where no one else got to see. One like Limitless, where every one else got to see and wanted.
You asked me what they were like. And now you know.
THIS is a craving.
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
In a room, loud with noises,
held without a break in their voices.
Thousands of people,
but it's so lonely here.
Some of them I'd call friends,
reeking of the smell of beer,
they follow such childish trends.
Still, when the night ends,
so will the buzz,
and we'll all go home,
alone.
In a sea of outspoken tongues,
their outgoing breath fills my lungs.
I'm drowning.
But nobody saves me.
Maybe it's better off that way?
feeling so dark within the sea
in the brightest light of April.
The dark slowly turns to day,
the stars will fall,
and we'll all go home
alone.
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
I did it. All of it. I'm guilty of it.
I did it to forget.
I did it to become vacant.
I did it to make the constant neurosis, my own personal insanity justified.
I did it. All of it.
I did it because it seemed to be the only thing that could create the smallest ability in myself to smile.
I did it because it was easier,
I did it because it was the only "happy pill" that worked.
I did it to feel comfort, which quickly became survival.
I did it. All of it. I'm guilty.
I did it regardless of what I had to do to be able.
I did it impulsively, desperately, selfishly.
I did it to silence, or at least muffle those voices that only I could hear.
I did it to separate my soul from my body.
I did it in bathroom stalls, ally ways, in broken down and abandoned houses, in public.
I did it with people who did it too.
I did it isolated from the world and everyone in it.
I did it to slow me down, to speed me up, to function, to change the way I was without it.
I did it away from home so I could avoid the exact feelings I didn't want to feel that i saw in the ones I should have loved.
I did it. All of it.
I curled up on the floor, begging whatever may have been listening to rid me of this evil exploding out of my center. I filled my heart with a theoretical Novocaine that I'd concocted myself.
I pushed them all away.
I was alone.
Yes, I did it. All of it. I'm completely guilty of it.
Now when I speak, I hear no response.
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 4:24 PM UTC