My old self is dead... (2013)

Nov 2017

SeaChel

I still think of you.

There is more romance in a simple coffee stain
than there is in a single bone from my body.

Nov 2017

SeaChel

Somewhere it's 3:21am

Bad habits die hard,
or so they say.
Though my bad habits
won't ******* die at all.

Nov 2017

SeaChel

Untitled

Stars twinkle while suspended
in the dark sky above.
Some dim, others bright;
A handful hued, the majority white.
From their perch beyond, and
when their numbers appear multiplied
as the moon is absent,
they whisper, "destiny," to me.

Nov 2017

SeaChel

Anxiety

Here I am, trying to convince the world,
trying to convince you,
trying to convince myself, that
I am fine.
A three-word sentence that hides the pain;
not from oneself but from watching eyes.
My troubles stack one on top of the other
forming a skyscraper that burdens me.
Each day it grows bigger and taller
until it collapses
as did the towers on 9/11,
as it does right on top of me.

Nov 2017

SeaChel

Untitled

Cigarettes and I have a
love-hate/hate-love
relationship.
Each drag is like voluntarily
placing my lungs in an inferno to be scorched.
The strongest people I know have
wasted away
because of that cancer-on-a-stick.
I especially hate how
they taint the tantalizing taste
of my lover's lips.
Yet, on rare drunken occasions
or when a thick layer of red coats my lips,
I crave the **** thing.

I don't smoke, I hate it, but if you've ever taken a drag of a cigarette while drunk, then you should completely understand this.

Nov 2017

SeaChel

Not good enough...

The feeling of not being good enough,
inadequacy,
pulses through my heart,
out both ventricles, through the arteries
to deposit the tingling sensation throughout my body like
a thousand red ants
crawling up and down limbs.
Trees have stronger roots than I.
It takes a mere sentence
to break my stance and split me
in two.
You don't notice me
stitching myself back together
piece by piece.
You never notice because I am simply
not good enough.

Nov 2017

SeaChel

Nothing is really personal anymore.

What makes it so easy
to write personal works
from the heart,
the soul,
the inner workings of my mind
that then you, strangers,
read at your own will,
like, and comment?
Things I cannot even bring myself
to admit to those closest to me
or even yours truly.
The fact baffles me each time
I start typing.

Nov 2017

SeaChel

4:13am yesterday

A walking contradiction;
I do not want anyone to be dependent
upon me.
Yet, when no one needs me
I collapse.

Not in any way poetic, just word *****. I had to get this off my chest and what better way than to complete strangers?

Nov 2017

SeaChel

Voluntary Brainwashing (Haiku)

Hot water rushes
from spigot to head; All my
thoughts are washed away

Nov 2017

SeaChel

LSD

Faces morphing
Colors changing
Hearts convulsing
Ceilings spazzing
Hands shaking
Reality vanishing

-

What

is

anything?

Very controversial topic, yet, art at its highest peak.

Nov 2017

SeaChel

Do not judge me just because I do things differently than you.

You tell me I'm not passionate
although, I cannot grasp
how you presume this.
Passion is a form of art.
Please tell me which two artists
paint,
draw,
compose,
write,
interpret,
express
objects in the exact same way?

Just because we see/do things differently than others does not mean they do them wrong or do not do them at all. It's called viewpoints and being individuals.

Nov 2017

SeaChel

Letting depression win (10w)

Body, Mind, and Soul:
I am weak.
I feel nothing.