Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Alien, you remain a mystery to me.
You carve upon my retinas with your ideas,
your friendless habits abduct my days.
You phrase my nightmares and phase through
my eyelashes, lasting a dawn with nothing more than
gibbous eyelids, over-ambitious? No. My heart is not nutritious,
fixing this isn't by contributing to the addiction, inflicting
absence as a base to what I do; how I think. Why are
you always at the edge of when I
blink?
---------
All feedback is welcome!!
So; I hope this poem isn't confusing.
Alien is meant to be a character I talk to; like my mystery.
I hope that makes sense.:)
 Jun 2018 Pitch Hiker
Underneath
The Greeks got it wrong.
They didn’t understand.
Tartarus is not the worst torture.
Those punishments are frustration.
Mine breaks souls.

I’ve never been diagnosed
But I think I’m depressed.
It’s not sadness.
It’s just empty.
It’s a hole that can’t be filled.
Not even by pain.

Do meds help?
Or do they just fog you up enough
That you can’t see the hole?
I don’t know if I need help. But if it won’t help then I don’t want anything to do with it.
Next page