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irsorai Aug 2015
Do you ever have your heart so full of sorrow
that you cannot feel anything?
You are numb, you're not sure of what's happening.
Deep breathes and clenched jaw.
You remain with a soft expression
but inside you're on ruins.
What do I do?
I'm a restless soul inside a troubling vision.
Where do I start?
I don't know where I went wrong,
besides the constant denial and self-loathing.
Can I be saved?
I'm in love with a version of myself,
one I can't achieve.

Let me rest,
let me close my eyes
and dream of what once were my dreams.
Copyright © irsorai
irsorai Aug 2015
People do not
exist
to complete you.

Their pain is not beautiful or romantic.
Their emotions are neither shallow nor too mysterious to understand.
Yes: they might be overwhelmed, under-prepared, broken.
But stooping to pick up the pieces and fit them back together doesn't provide you with any ownership of whatever it is you've made.

And if you step back and realize that
what you've built isn't what you think it should be,
then find a way to respect them for who they are.
And do it without any preconceptions about
obligatory desire or mandatory love.
Copyright © irsorai
  Aug 2015 irsorai
Misty Meadows
I fizz a little, drift
A little in this
Mist.
Every love's coincidental
If it's ending with a kiss.
I don't really miss
The burning and the bleeding of my
Wrist.
But my fist holds much bliss.
I am swift and too brisk.
I am...
Holding many myths
And I spit 'em from lips that
Stutter too quick.
Yet, mumble when ****** and
They only take trips when
Challenged by risk.
So, I fumble with trouble.
Guess I like it like this.
Flow lifts like vapor.
irsorai Aug 2015
Such a motionless feeling to the beating rumble of my heart.
There’s a cruel way for how the wind is billowing tonight,
it whistles,
it crumbles all the barriers between then and now.
I wish I could tell you how much it beats out of pace when I think about you.
But there’s nothing there,
there’s nothing strong enough that holds you there,
it’s ruined,
you ruined it.

You took everything with you;
the memories, the good and bad;
the stolen smiles, between hugs and talks;
you took me, a part of me I don’t remember anymore.
You took my innocence,
you took my pureness.

I don’t hate you because I don’t feel for you,
in me,
you do not exist,
you’re nothing.

You’re… you… aren’t.
Copyright © irsorai
irsorai Aug 2015
Fear. For once, I’ll try and live despise the fear.
See you, run to you, hold your hand and tell you I’m there,
fully there, not a self made prototype that faces behind my true self.

Love. For once, I’ll try and face what I feel.
Let it drive me and move me to be honest not only with myself but with you.
I don’t know what I feel, but I’ll tell you that.

Anger. For once, I’ll try and let it corrupt my body until I finally speak thought the hate I feel for me,
how much I don’t, for you.

Can I? Will I? I don’t think I’ll…
Copyright © irsorai
  Aug 2015 irsorai
James M Vines
When life blows you over, get up again. When the waves of turmoil wash over you find yourself a towel and dry off for another swim. When angry clouds come overhead, simply look for a ray of sunlight. When all things are against you simply be still in the storm until you find your center, then press on.
irsorai Aug 2015
A broken man looking for a fight in a faithful place.
He's unknown, uneasy, unworthy and unfit.
He claims revenge to a stranger locked inside himself.

He sees red, he feels red, he's red.

Guided by rage there's no place to hide.
There's no hope in the conflicted emotions floating upon his heart.
He's a soldier at war with himself.

He sees red, he feels red, he's red.

There's no giving up when there's no getting up.
The broken reflection of a stranger motion.
He's never been more like himself when he's doubting himself.

He sees red, he feels red, he's red.

Shallow words, defined actions.
Quiet, impatient, there, waiting.
He's destroying himself.

He sees red, he feels red, he's red.

Dean Winchester,
locked in himself;
at war with himself;
doubting himself;
destroying himself.

He sees red, he feels red, he’s red.
Copyright © irsorai

(This poem was inspired on the character of Dean Winchester from Supernatural. No money is being made from this poem. No copyright infringement is intended. There's no doubt he's one of my main inspirations, cause unfortunately, we are alike when it comes to how we process our feelings. It doesn't necessarily mean it's a good thing though.)
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