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RiBa 13s

Was never a writer, far less a poet
Not even a fan of the written verse
Fighting my demons, my gloom
My life, a quagmire, a curse

Depression, the jealous lover
It doesnt want to let you go
Weaves its lies and stories
Toxic opium, it kills you slow

Floundering in the dark tempest
My boat about to sink
No buoy, beacon or light
A Life was at the brink

My pain put forth in confused lines
thoughts battling impending doom
Dark morbid verses,
Penned in dark claustrophobic rooms

And then discovered a haven
Of imagination, beauty and light
A place of beautiful lines and radiance
I grabbed it with all my might

I am much better today
The writing has set me free
i fly, an Icarus in the blue sky yonder
And I thank you all @ hello poetry

I had to write this. As i visit my doctor tomorrow and talk of the progress i have made in the last few months, significant part of my returning to normalcy is to you lovely poets at HP.  You share your glorious poems, stop, read my lines, sometimes good or bad, like n love them and comment. It has helped me in so many ways. Thank you, Poets!!

it's funny and it's not
Stop stop this world of imagination
It's hurting me
I watched a favourite film this week too where she threw away the cat
Can you imagine that
They found it together
Not inside having  Breakfast at Tiffany's

Emma 1m

I can't remember what your words felt like painted on me
Yet I can't seem to forget wanting them

Emma 2m

Through a midnights screaming and a middays mourning
I have found peace in the despair
As faces fade in and out
I am left alone with my only constant-the nagging despair
Like a shadow, he crept upon me
His lingering was indisputable
Just as a parasite, he made his home inside of me
He did the cha-cha slide through my heart and tore up my brain
After first the manifestation was overwhelming
Months, days, years pass...and he still remains

"On High"

she spoke in the longingly tumbling vernacular of hip
and waist
actions were her heaven heave up into the awake

Emma 3m

I was fascinated by the thought of death,
Its satin rustling on my skin
Hiding the sun
Deaths macabre curtains pursing my every move
I was left to my own demise
My ineptitude left a perpetual sorrow
Iced and comatose
I was left-never to be blanketed by warmth
Nor was I able to drink from the cup of hope
Death had its curtain call
I had taken my final bow

Listening to jazz
And falling in love

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