My emotions are a skeleton
and every bone is breaking.
My heart is a cavern
and the ceiling is collapsing.
If disappointment were the ocean,
I'd have sailed the seven seas.
My eyes are a furnace
and the saltwater is my excuse.
I could create endless metaphors,
turn my anguish into beauty,
craft well-written analogies,
and pretend pain is poetry.
But honestly I'm just empty,
there are no words that convey
this simple absence of fulfillment,
the hole in my chest isn't poetic.
I have huge dreams and fiery passions,
but I'm lying in bed writing poems,
life is dripping through my fingertips
and I'm just watching it hit the cement.
I feel like a failure,
I'm afraid my life is worthless,
I'm incapable of succeeding,
I'm not good enough to win.
These words are midnight's lies
but they're finding me in the daylight.
I have become exhausted,
and I am so tired of being tired.
10/6/14 12:05am