Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Imagination so dark
Mind so dark
I can't see a single thing
Not even anything
Except from gore
It traumatizes me more
Than it should've
It makes me disgusted
It makes me distrusted
Of my own imagination
My imagination
Makes me cry
From being scared

Kai is my name
死ぬ is my other name
Or at least that's what my dark imagination tells me...
Imagination makes me a fool for life and dreams
I can't tell the difference between life and dreams
It's difficult because of my dark imagination
It's too realistic
My mind is a bit too artistic
A bit too much gore
I don't want anymore

It makes me scared
Scared
That I might become one of them
Whenever someone says something like- "if you stab someone under their eye, their eye will pop out." It makes me imagine it in detail. I just hope that none of my imagination will actually happen to me. It's too gruesome.
Ive found a new type of loneliness
One that can be felt in a crowd
Surrounded by people i dont know
Like a storm in a sky of fluffy clouds

Ive found a new type of loneliness
One that can be felt with friends
Feeling so worthless
I hope that this ends

Ive found a new type of loneliness
One that i know will never stop
Itll jeep going and going
Until the second I drop

I look forward to that day
TiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTired­TiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTired­TiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTired­TiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTiredTired­TiredTiredTired
Thats me
We could’ve
we would’ve
we should’ve
— but we didn’t

(Dreamsleep: November, 2024)
Trapped in a
ditch
on the highway
of life
Comings
were going
all motion
had gone

Till fates
saving whisper
in the ear
of tomorrow
Granted me
traction
in search
— of the dawn

(Dreamsleep: November, 2024)
she casts her pencil like a wand as magic soaks into the page her flannel cascades around her work, shielding it from curious eyes she tilts her head to listen to the lecture, but her heart is elsewhere running through castles and stumbling through candle lit streets colors tangle to mirror the expanse of her dreams she shares her soul with every meticulous stroke each face blessed by her style but never the same when she designs she never aims for perfection for she knows perfect is just a fancy way of saying flawed she erases and redraws as if her art could never satisfy her desires it can always be better but it is never good enough if only she knew I meant it when I told her I loved her drawing her art speaks to me like Mona Lisa never could
i just wanted you to know
that I've been reading your poems
your stories
your heart
and I too
bleed for these words
like you
and I hope
you read mine too
when your heart
seek for words
Next page