Crack the wall
Crack my skin
To hide the cracked state I’m in
Keep falling into pieces
Keep telling myself I’m lying
You can see my tear stained face
Of course I’m ******* lying
I cannot cope
I cannot cope
Why can’t I ******* cope?
Maybe I need an intervention
Maybe it’s beyond my comprehension
But the smug look
Of my own mind
Likes to remind
Death is kind

It's 3 am and I feel like ****

what else is ******* new?

My poems are garbled thoughts moulded into a predictable structure

                                                      ­if
                   i
                                     change
                                                          ­     what
             is
                            expected



does that mean my writing is worthy of praise?

Hollow abysses of anguish, lie deep within a poets eyes

Creativity is a result of torment
Poetry is beauty written by the miserable

I am a succubus: my caress turns you to putty in my hands.
My allure is effortless: your limbs are mine to do with as I desire.


You cannot resist my allure just like a fish to the bait

It's supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year
but all that happiness pushes me deeper into the abyss of self-loathing

**** I messed it up
                                  I mess everything up

I'm a ******* failure

She wishes on the dandelions
She is a child at heart
But she wishes for her happiness
And that that happiness won’t depart
She cannot deal with sadness and the bruises and the pain so she wishes on the dandelions that those feelings will go away
But her wishes now are useless so her tears are now the norm and she wishes that her crying would end this thunderstorm.
The dandelions are dying and now so are her dreams
But she still wishes on the dandelions for the smiles she doesn’t beam

I haven't written in a while and my poems only seem to feel forced
unless I'm in a general state of desolate despair

Maybe I'll find
                          my answers
                                                  at the bottom
                                
                                                                           of this bottle

I am such a failure I can't even write a poem.

I can't string my simple thoughts into coherent sentences

What

A

****-up

what the ******* point is?

Poetry is the purest form of introspection.
The examination of one’s conscience, thoughts and feelings can be so difficult
Look at my words and understand me
I am my words.
I am my sentences.
I am my poems.

I'm living in a world of perpetual misery
My life is meaningless and so am I
Who cares if I deserve to live?
That doesn’t change that I want to die
The monotony is agonizing
Work and Sleep
Work and Sleep
Work and Sleep
Maybe my death would cause some change just a tiny rift
And away my soulless corpse would drift
Cause the monotony of life really makes me tear apart my wrist

Babbling brook                                                               Babbling brook
Babbling brook             Alice slays the jabberwocky           Babbling brook
Babbling brook                                                                Babbling brook


solitude is the only logical conclusion.                              what am I?


Babbling brook                                                               Babbling brook
Babbling brook                                                               Babbling brook
Babbling brook                 Faciens ars est errata                 Babbling brook

I am aching to create but I can't

I feel like such a ****-up but I can't

Terminology so vibrant doesn't suit achromatic souls nor does the labyrinth-like structures peppered by aureate phrases that I have a fondness for

Numb, I am so numb
Numb, I cannot feel
Numb, I am broken
Numb, What is pain?
————————————-
01001110 01110101 01101101 01100010 00101100 01001001 00100000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01110011 01101111 00100000 01101110 01110101 01101101 01100010 00101110 00001101 00001010 01001110 01110101 01101101 01100010 00101100 01001001 00100000 01100011 01100001 01101110 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01100110 01100101 01100101 01101100 00101110 00001101 00001010 01001110 01110101 01101101 01100010 00101100 01001001 00100000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01100010 01110010 01101111 01101011 01100101 01101110 00101110 00001101 00001010 01001110 01110101 01101101 01100010 00101100 01010111 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01110000 01100001 01101001 01101110 00111111
———————————————————
ERROR
I am a product of my fAUltY programming

I can’t sleep; I should take a pill for that
I can’t eat; I should take another pill
I hear voices; one more pill
I’m not happy; another pill
I’ve taken too many pills, I’m dying and I can’t take a pill for that

Nary an original thought possesses me,

maybe I should become mute?

But then how would I boast about my obnoxious self perceived importance?

Aristocracy is opulence:
encrusted with diamonds.

I've amassed an abundance of
frivolous jewels; they adorn my
band of silver filled with prestige

I spill my guts onto the page

                            where
                                              has

                                                       my
                          sanity
                                             gone
                                                              ?

I’ve always been peculiar
                                      My poems are self-assured nonsense
Chaos is soothing
                                                    Unique is a matter of perspective

I’m sitting out on the patio
Drinking a G & T
My heart swells and the sun is bright
And it’s shining down on me.

Sunflowers are blooming and I’ll pour just one more drink cause I’m addicted to the sunshine bubbling inside me with every sip

Gin and sunshine melts the world
My vision is blurred but improved
I’m fuzzy and warm and I feel a bit happy cause I’m numbing my senses from all of reality

Does
          writing
                       about
                                your
                                       self-hatred  
                                                   ­      make
                                                            ­       it
                                                                ­        easier

                                                 ­                                  to
                  
                                                                ­                          handle
                                                                ­                                       ?