Jan 22
Sometimes I am barely a person.
Just a walking, talking doll, waiting for instruction.
I feel like a faraway dream.
Just waiting for them to give or take my autonomy.
The only time I can feel for myself
is when I'm manic, in panic, screaming for help.
When I'm in this place, it is spiritual.
Death waits patiently, anticipating at my door.
So far from reality, lost in a place of need.
Feed me your attention and pull on my leash.
Just a walking, talking doll, waiting for instruction.
I feel like a faraway dream.
Just waiting for them to give or take my autonomy.
The only time I can feel for myself
is when I'm manic, in panic, screaming for help.
When I'm in this place, it is spiritual.
Death waits patiently, anticipating at my door.
So far from reality, lost in a place of need.
Feed me your attention and pull on my leash.
This poem holds a lot of the same feelings as my last, but more from a perspective of dissociation. This is a coping mechanism that can make you feel out of body, in a dream, and not in control of your physical actions.
