Suffocating in this state of mind
Like a grain of soil
On the wall of a
perpetually filling
Bottomless pit.
All stale
and collapsing mud.
I can’t breathe
And it is dark in here
In this silence
In this wet and stifling
***** blanket
Of thin smiles
That veil
filth and dirt.
Gritty, I can taste discontent
( restlessness stirred, agitated, weeping)
Like a thorn in the side
Of this torn and invisibly stitched mouth.
My fingers bleed
And doubt seeds
Vicious weeds inside
An already
sick and nauseated mind.
There is hurt in here
And pain
And the bittersweet unspoken
refrain
Of one lost in their
Own directionless
Domain.
These walls I built, alone.
That stare back careless
And greet me daily with their
Cold embrace.
In this darkness, alone,
I, us, we,
cry.
Small children,
Whimpering in this feeling
of self chafed friction.
Whining,
each whine followed by
Gutteral, viscous, primal mutterings
These madman
Me, myself and i
Locked in a tunnel
Without light
It is cold and we want so badly
To relight the fire
I
claw at the fortification
I have erected
Around myself
Then bleed some more
Until the walls in front of me turn from
la mort noire to
rouge de sang
Sitting here
In this
Abyss.
Blinded by the inability to see
The incapacity to feel
Anything but the feeling of failure.
This powerlessness to heal,
All sealed up and drowning
in my private pool of mud.
Still it is dark in here,
And wet,
And bloodied
And brooding.
The cold walls are soothing
And the veil still acts
To conceal
The extent of filth
Scourging up the walls
Of this inaudible and bidding cave.
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 7:38 PM UTC
Suffocating in this state of mind
Like a grain of soil
On the wall of a
perpetually filling
Bottomless pit.
All stale
and collapsing mud.
I can’t breathe
And it is dark in here
In this silence
In this wet and stifling
***** blanket
Of thin smiles
That veil
filth and dirt.
Gritty, I can taste discontent
( restlessness stirred, agitated, weeping)
Like a thorn in the side
Of this torn and invisibly stitched mouth.
My fingers bleed
And doubt seeds
Vicious weeds inside
An already
sick and nauseated mind.
There is hurt in here
And pain
And the bittersweet unspoken
refrain
Of one lost in their
Own directionless
Domain.
These walls I built, alone.
That stare back careless
And greet me daily with their
Cold embrace.
In this darkness, alone,
I, us, we,
cry.
Small children,
Whimpering in this feeling
of self chafed friction.
Whining,
each whine followed by
Gutteral, viscous, primal mutterings
These madman
Me, myself and i
Locked in a tunnel
Without light
It is cold and we want so badly
To relight the fire
I
claw at the fortification
I have erected
Around myself
Then bleed some more
Until the walls in front of me turn from
la mort noire to
rouge de sang
Sitting here
In this
Abyss.
Blinded by the inability to see
The incapacity to feel
Anything but the feeling of failure.
This powerlessness to heal,
All sealed up and drowning
in my private pool of mud.
Still it is dark in here,
And wet,
And bloodied
And brooding.
The cold walls are soothing
And the veil still acts
To conceal
The extent of filth
Scourging up the walls
Of this inaudible and bidding cave.