The emptiness inside, resides within my eyes
Like basins full of water, strung up to high tide
Its full of all your lies-- on boats your secrets hide
My hopes and dreams, here falters -- and dies.
But on one day , abysmally in dismay
Your Heart thawed, just enough to Say
three little words; that brings my heart decay
"I hate you" -- sword wounds left uncured
My empathy drained; insides left on display
The walks of life I see;
such little hope
I have for hum- anity
stum ble blind alone
never able to see reality.
I never knew what strength was
until I couldn't hold on any longer;
It is as if a wave of tranquility passed over me this morning. Still numb. However, the strenuous longing to feel has dissipated. The wounds have be temporarily cauterized. No empty pain lingers in the darkness like a phantom menace. I felt nothing before, But I knew I was in pain. Now the nothingness consumes any lingering obscure thoughts. I am the hollow man; Such a fragile shell I carry on burden bones. But tis a pleasant day indeed. Thunder storms barrage the sky in open warfare and ominous tear drops soak the battlefield. For once I am not the fool weeping alone; The world takes my place, my pain, my suffering, and I revel in the warmth of it's tears as any good sadist does.
Poetic pros I write in my journal that I reveal to the world in snippets.
The past two days were recklessly engorged with alcohol.
Intoxication has become habitual. Each weekend, drowning one's self in an illusion of joy and folly; The jester entertaining not Kings nor Queens, but the ****, the weak, to deceive the empty crowd in my mind that I matter to someone. But matter is fleeting and we, myself and the abyss, understand the plight of today; waking up to nothing-- the empty abyss for which I am well acquainted with. Simply put, I am revisiting my old home from a not so distant past. The only difference between then and now is the relentless bottoms of empty glasses and a false sense of security and composure.
1 page of my thoughts a day to prevent my head from exploding!
I proceed to write again,
Feverishly clawing my way
through a leather bound journal.
The floods have been dammed
for longer than I can remember
And I fear for those below,
But I must laugh at myself a little
For I am alone in this abyss.
the scars on my wrist
is depression's cost