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Emily Moser Dec 2014
My head feels like an archers arrow,
As far as it can stretch across his bow.
The pressure is building,
Im seconds from release (relief).
My legs feel like a hurricane,
Shaking from a shift in the plates.
It's gonna die down soon,
But it wont let me sleep in the meantime.
My stomach feels like a galaxy,
So lonely and empty it groans for comfort.
Stars are dying and new fires are
igniting.
Spontaneous combustion is inevitable.
My eyes feel like old, worn-out lightbulbs,
Dim now, and flickering.
Im praying for them to cut to black
  Dec 2014 Emily Moser
Overwhelmed
maybe it’s a nervous breakdown
I am twitching a lot
moving my feet and hands
in alternate patterns constantly
and I can’t seem to think
everything sounds like static
so maybe it’s my body finally shutting down
slowly tearing down the whole show
letting people see how it really is
and I can’t figure out why
but something is definitely happening
and I’m sitting here, watching myself,
seeing all that I am come apart at the seams
letting loose what little I have within me
so that it can flutter off
into the dark and rainy
night
  Dec 2014 Emily Moser
Jo Kent
It feels like my heart is absent and all that is left is this heavy emptiness
It hurts more than any pain that could be inflicted on my external self
Like I'm trapped, enclosed, and the world outside is racing past
But I can't touch it, there's nothing there.
They say time heals all wounds but it does nothing to stop this aching darkness
inside me.
A part of the Dissociation series
  Dec 2014 Emily Moser
R Saba
sun shone down
moon broke away
and spring became a possibility

i spent time wandering the halls
of my mind and my body, up and down
my veins
until i found the oxygen

today i dug my nail into the knuckle
of my pinky finger
for an hour
because without the pain
i kept sliding into grey
amid a room of voices
that i knew i had to listen to

and it's ok, i mean the mark is barely there
but that clarity scared me

i think i'd rather fall asleep
than rely on crushing hard into soft
dead into alive
just to prove dead is alive
no matter how it may feel when untouched

and i have been left untouched for days
so when my heartbeat made itself known today
i was afraid, and i wish i knew
why

sun hid behind the clouds
moon ate at the sky
until there was nothing left
sorry i've been busy, but the poetry's back
  Dec 2014 Emily Moser
Hodgins
How do you tell someone that they’re not real
Politely?
Quietly?
I don’t know what to do anymore
What if none of this really matters
What if we’re all going to be okay
Because I’m not real
And you’re not real
But how do you say that because we aren’t actually human
We’re just pretending
Because life is about the things that we don’t understand
We don’t see
But why can’t anyone tell me how to tell them I don’t experience
What I’m supposed to because
I’m not real
And you’re not real
And reality is just an illusion because we don’t really exist
And humans are just a concept
And life is just a fleeting idea in the mind of something we can’t even begin to understand
Because we’re not real
I’m not real
I don’t understand and I can’t see with all this dust around me
Dust kicked up by the thousands of feet
All copies of the same feet marching
Oh god we’re not real we all have the same feet look at your feet
How do I say this because we aren’t real so we can’t listen and we can’t hear
Is it polite to tell someone that their entire life is false?
Can it be done quietly?
We’re all going to be okay I swear to god
Because in a thousand other places we don’t exist
And in two thousand more we are okay already
So the odds say that we’re likely to be okay here
Because we’re already okay somewhere
I swear to god
But in the long run it probably doesn't matter anyway because there is no long run
Because I’m not real
I’m not real and I can’t see oh god there’s so much dust
All I can hear is the marching
I’m not real
I’m a thought in a bubble in a cloud in the dirt
I can’t be real because they told me reality wasn’t like this
But then when I hear you speak
Why do I hear humanity’s voice
When I read those words
Your words
Why can I feel the idea creeping politely
quietly
Into my mind that I might be a real person
Because this isn’t supposed to happen
Oh god, not to just a thought
Not to a mere figment
My feet are itchy
This isn’t supposed to happen
Not to a lie
Not to a lie like me
Closely I observe myself from afar.
My world transforms into a perplexed dream.
Earth-toned hues shine brighter than any star.
Perception composes a wary theme.
Contorted tree limbs mock every movement.
Eyes become filled with cotton candy clouds.
Conversations are no longer fluent.
Alone I walk in a burial shroud.
I pinch my arm to make sure I’m not dead.
Numb is the only sensation I feel.
Broken shards of faith bear a tint of red.
The face in the mirror doesn’t look real.
Existence slowly crumbles into sand.
I’m a stranger who roams this foreign land.
This is my first Sonnet. I thought I'd pay homage to a condition I've had for many many years. This condition has been defined as "The Alice in Wonderland disease."  It started on New Year's Eve 1996 when I smoked *** that was laced with something. The resulting effects still plague me from time to time; however I use it to my advantage now. Instead of running from it, I write about it. I really enjoyed the challege of writing a Sonnet, but ******* are my fingers tired from tapping.
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