Writhing is the brain, hair stood on end,
with every beat of the eldritch heart.
The air, a-buzz with cacophonous, insectoid droning,
threatening to infiltrate and indoctrinate the mind;
twisting languid listening into a maddening gaze,
ablaze with hate and lacking sophistication.
I cling, with fingers tensed, to the heavy, sticky rot
that lingers thickly in the air,
and all my cares are gnawing at my soul.
Something stirring deep within has heightened,
and I’m frightened, finding myself once again
scared of the dark.
A darkness creeping deep within my dreams,
which, snaking, strangles me; and when I wake
I find I’m face down in contorted misery,
like something ghostly sought to swallow me
alive.
Wretched wasteful
-undue, unholy and unsanctioned-
sour tasting, ugly, rank:
anxiety
May 27, 2024
May 27, 2024 at 8:48 PM UTC
Writhing is the brain, hair stood on end,
with every beat of the eldritch heart.
The air, a-buzz with cacophonous, insectoid droning,
threatening to infiltrate and indoctrinate the mind;
twisting languid listening into a maddening gaze,
ablaze with hate and lacking sophistication.
I cling, with fingers tensed, to the heavy, sticky rot
that lingers thickly in the air,
and all my cares are gnawing at my soul.
Something stirring deep within has heightened,
and I’m frightened, finding myself once again
scared of the dark.
A darkness creeping deep within my dreams,
which, snaking, strangles me; and when I wake
I find I’m face down in contorted misery,
like something ghostly sought to swallow me
alive.
Wretched wasteful
-undue, unholy and unsanctioned-
sour tasting, ugly, rank:
anxiety
Haven't written anything in quite a while. Maybe using poetry as a vehicle for catharsis will help with that.
