Waves of sadness make me hostage.
I’m broken down, taxed, and can’t pay homage
to the ones who love me because they won’t exist.
My determination? Destitute. My drive? Despondent.
I’m tired and tied in *******; beatings make me blind.
Fearing too much of being not enough; timidly
with flight or fight, I’m frozen and stuck behind.
Losing my hope is a snowball decreasing
my peace of mind, but increasing proclivity
for this piece of mine to knock off a piece of mind.

The terror taking thoughts as I tear a wrist.
Mentally. In my mind, I paint vividly.
Nothing. My writing lacks imagery;
temerity isn’t consistent and it’s not fair to me.
With this life, I feel disparity. Please stop the abuse,
it’s not even a rarity. I need care for me.
The blues keep playing until tears produce.
Smiles are only arriving rarely; numbly
I’m barely feeling it a little bit.
I’m neutral, where’s polarity?
Prosperity? I’m probably spilling it.
Making a mistake seems so scary
when its dreams, seduces, and reduces,
your will to go on because of the bruises.
And when I take another hit squarely
to the chest, I’ll just cry and take another hit
to the chest, until they’re enthused and I’m used.

I lived through you abandoning me.
There was a time that I showed you glee,
but now I could never do that again.
You are not a father, you only bring rain.
Broken from your chains, forever am I free.

You said that we were friends, but now I see.
Where there was once care, there is nothing.
Even though our friendship has been slain,
I lived.

We shared a love soaked with beauty,
until you stopped loving and tossed the key;
to my heart, you brought care, but then replaced it with pain.
No longer do I see you in every woman, and every window pane.
By embracing myself and disdaining your vain, I lived.

How are these tears so cold?
I flinch and shiver from each river.
The slow waters, freezes on my chin,
seeps into sore skin. It hurts.
Each drop as a hot coal, not cold,
timid yet so bold burns my eyes.
It’s so hard to type or even write.
Cascading waves, down my face,
as my faith and all fades away.
Are my tears even worth pushing away?
Shapes blurry, the water’s murky,
you say sorry but still hurt me.
Can you please stop hurting me?
Calm the entropy. You’re so empty.
Mercy! Please stop hurting me;
I can’t deal with the lack of gl—

No one’s perfect, but I feel worthless sometimes.
My crimes are not legal offenses but are enzymes
that define, divide, and decline my spine.
It’s cancer unbenign to see wine derived
from her water. But I would see it and still love her.
I would slaughter my inhibitions to be her lover;
to concur with her words, offer her what she prefers.
I would burr my feelings for others to spur my feelings for her.

For her, I would give her whatever she deserves. But how sad, how mad,
how bad is that? To make my heart clad
with false hopes and rash rushes isn’t a gladness.
It’s tempting sadness that accesses and addresses
my weaknesses. Weaknesses that slither and slide
like snakes in my eyes. So sweet are her dresses,
so seductive is her sight. She makes my mind
sad with sycophant sensations, and we turn to messes.