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Oct 2014 · 804
First Sonnet
Christian Bowman Oct 2014
In my heart dwells an awkward entity
That drifts my mind and body separate.
What mitigates this dualist enmity?
An energy which I could never hate.
A stimulant that amplifies the soul
Forever feeds the hunger of the flesh
When eating means I must maintain my cool
my inner qi remains to be unrest
Yet there is one that manifests the bridge
A daredevil! (I’ve warned about the risks)
Descending from my isolated ridge
I greet with an unprecedented brisk.
For I had acted faster than I think
To love a girl (disaster!) in a blink.
Oct 2014 · 500
Untitled
Christian Bowman Oct 2014
I grew up in a haunted house
Where walls were wet with blood.
Phantasmagoric phantoms of my mother
set the mood.

Cadavers roamed the rooms
Their choral moans in sync.
To die in such a residence,
Surviving on the brink.

The days were drowned in silence,
While night surfaced the screams
Of murdered men. I lived
inside a sea of make-believe.

      And mirrors morphed
The monsters into mad reality
Insidious-their curses are
My sad normality

Today I am awake because
my horrors never sleep
The fictive fiends cry melodies
My mind cannot compete
A poem about me growing up
Jul 2014 · 242
Untitled
Christian Bowman Jul 2014
I kissed a man
but I am straight
and it felt okay
but the whole time I was thinking
"I'm hungry, I wonder if he is too"
because some things in life are
more important than
kissing.
Jul 2014 · 864
Untitled
Christian Bowman Jul 2014
There's plenty of fiction about zombies but
there are dead people all around us
not even realizing that
they are living a lie
absorbed in everything but
reality itself.
Theres a disease thats spreading
and its called conformity
thats airborne and you don't notice the symptoms
because it feels comfortable.
But once you go to the doctor
(who lives inside your head)
he will diagnose you with zombie disease and will give
you these instructions:
think, breathe, learn.  
Its a shame that people are afraid of going to the doctor
or cannot afford healthcare.
Jul 2014 · 500
Grow Up
Christian Bowman Jul 2014
Man to my past, child to my future
age is an irrelevant concept
but I'll keep counting anyway
when will I ever grow up?
Just a poem about getting older
Jul 2014 · 310
Untitled
Christian Bowman Jul 2014
Clear as a window
(well, I'll wipe it till its clean)
I will speak and I will listen
but I don't know what you mean
it gets hard to pinpoint exactly


where

                                       I

am.  


so I draw a map of landmarks
that is modeled after catscans
north is south is east is west
I'm used to it by now
if you try to play Columbus
you will most likely drown
go to town! ask the people what had happened to the clown
"he got up and left one day and didn't even make a sound...
but he's around
we hear him when he speaks inside our minds
never gives straight forward statements
just communicates with rhymes"
Yes
The loyal, happy townsfolk noticed, but they never said
that something poisonous made him delirious inside his head
instead of getting help, he just played what he was dealt
three 6s and a joker laughing all the way to hell
Most of my poems are about anxiety so here's another
Jul 2014 · 212
Untitled
Christian Bowman Jul 2014
I've been stuck inside a maze
with no easy way to see
and
if i could light this fire
then just maybe I could leave

There are moments when my efforts win
down crumbles my borders
I'll take a step and then the next moment the path becomes

a corner.  

                      I don't know how I got here

and its scary to believe
that I tricked myself to coming
making me my own worst enemy
I lost all of my memories
but I will not forget  
how it feels to not remember that an outside world exists.

Tomorrow's never promised
Yesterday has passed
haven't kept up with the present
and nobody's ever asked
the last time i made the rash decision not to think
I took all my common sense
                                                 and I
                                                         poured
                                                                      it
                                                                      in
                                                                         a drink


See I don't know how I got here



but one thing is for sure
all my thoughts are corrupted but
Reality is pure
these labyrinth walls whisper
but what's really in my ear
screams
"the only way to exit is to realize you are here"
A poem I wrote in the midst of my psychosis and the peak of my anxiety.  Enjoy!

— The End —