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I feel trapped
Confined in this media hellstorm
How easy it is to numb out
To drown out these thoughts
These feelings
These aspects of myself
Under the static of technology
I just want to exist and to
Connect with myself again
And yet I keep tuning in
To tune it all out
I dont even like what im watching
I dont enjoy doing this over and over again
It feels so compulsive
So uncontrollable that
I want to just sell my TV
Return to a dumb phone again
Rid myself of these technological terrors
Because for some reason
I can't just walk away
And I can feel the clocks ticking
As these precious moments are wasting away
And slipping through my fingertips
md-writer Aug 12
I feel stoppered, as if the profundity of my thought needs some epic outflow that cannot be mustered up as a random piece of artwork (which is how I normally create poetry) - or, if it could be, would only be possible after letting loose with poems that are comparatively banal and simple, so as to make room in the birthplace of my mind for a stronger, larger, and better creation.

But I could not abide that. The stopper remains until I express the inexpressible: a tangled mess of existential dread, a million moments of loss, and the silver-eyed guardian of hope that flits on the edge of all things.

Yes, that mess.

The loss is possibly easiest to understand. It's not only my own loss - though every sorrow I have accumulated becomes a constant companion, a whole host of them gathering at my elbow - but the loss of others, and of the world. And then there's faded cloth, chipped paint, and barns falling where they stand - sorrows that nobody grieves. I myself could weep, but I have rendered myself unable.

The ache of existing is a far more complicated emotion, tinged with all the loss I feel and colored by my own withdrawal from life itself. Perhaps the two are more connected than I suppose. It's a tangled mess, either way.

Existential dread is a phrase I have lost sight of, hurling it around so flippantly as I do to ease the slowly unmasking terror of my perceived meaninglessness. I use it, baldly facing the words so I can laugh at least once, if bitterly, and then swallow the horror of Edvard Munch's "Scream".

But that does no good. For once inside again, back where it began, that feeling has now been given words, shape, and texture. The scream then has a voice, which I must silence in some way.

I silence it by walking away.

My body is not quite fully mine (though I would **** to keep it). It's just the present vehicle through which I vainly peer, not bothering to wipe the window-shields or keep things tidy. In the silence of my own company the key turns, lights flick off, and I close the door behind me when I leave.

Of course, at that point, the roles are reversed and I carry the vehicle inside my mind even as I walk away; that is where the ache comes from then.

But there are so many places to go when you do not have to move an inch, and each of them has a color, smell, and sense of completeness that can layer over the image of my lone and lonely vehicle, parked under a single street lamp and swept by shifting dust.

By spectating those other things and places, it's like I want to become a part of them - to transcend myself and enter the image; meld into the experience. And yet I carry closely the constant anger of knowing full well that it cannot be. I knock my head against the glass wall of separation again and again and again, and every time the pain has dulled so I don't notice quite so much how very far away I am.

Some of those places are very dark. At times I am ****** against the glass as if it were against my will.

It is, but it isn't all the same.

Most of the others are simply there along the path, convenient because of their proximity, and yet demanding in their infinite extent. A bottomless well of experiences that cannot be touched except by proxy.

The last kind are actually beautiful places. Stories of humanity, divinity, and divinity within humanity. Stories of life, loss, joy, and the terrible tread of change that rips our hearts apart and smashes the pieces back together in a way we cannot fully comprehend - but need to.

These are the places that return me to my body. The wide-open plains of truth, with a breeze that tears through all pretending. The guardian of hope is there, flying on the wind. She lives in all the places where beauty is, and yet she is almost always mute to me. She opens her mouth to speak, but I have left my ears behind when I came to these places, remember?

So the sudden silver flash of her wings is only enough to wake me up. But it is not a gentle, happy waking. Every feather that I see is a sharp pang of agony, because it makes me feel again. No matter how many steps I have taken from my vehicle, that sight hurls me back to sit in the driver's seat with tears running down my face.

I must find a way to take my body with me into those special places, to fuse the two so that I can walk between worlds and hear the trumpet of her voice in each.

But for now I am stoppered, until I learn to feel when I am all alone. A gentle hand more quickly opens up my constant wounds and losses, true; but I must learn to weep for me. With no one else to see.

And if I learn to stare unblinking at the sunset of my soul, perhaps I'll see a new day...

...for tomorrows always come.
And there, in the last light of this dusk, I see it. The silver flicker of Hope's wingtip flashes once across my vision, and is gone.
Chloe James Apr 21
I'm sinking further and further until it completely consumes me.
Now i no longer exist.
I suffocate as i try to find my way back to reality.
But, no matter how hard i try i can't escape my mind.
I'm in a Prison.
thoughts flying through my mind at a speed like no other.
You're worthless.
Why are you even trying?
You're making a fool of yourself.
Everyone's watching you struggle.
You're Pathetic.
And only when i fleet the scene can i put my grasp back around reality.
Until what happens today repeats itself.
It's my normality.
I struggle with anxiety, but writing really helps take my mind off things.
V liv Apr 1
Blurred like my vision
Orange as my pride
Quakes, rumbles, and whispers
All one tries to hide
The ***** deeds and ill intent
All you planned to circumvent
Illuminated
By a street lamp
Iz Mar 20
There’s dirt and dried lavender squished so deeply into the carpet it can probably hear the ****** screaming from hell below
Similar to the roots so deeply imbedded in soil they forget there is the light of day above wanting so desperately to greet them
I understand the fear of having nothing left to hide
Secrecy becomes security and procrastination is a comfort
Maybe I should vacuum and sage out the lurking demons But I’ve found a peace in the chaos
I think I’m really scared to just hear the silence in this worn down home
Because that means it’ll be time to move on
And I don’t want to move or let go
Gira Mar 20
What’s the difference between escapism and avoidance?
“There isn’t one, they’re synonyms”
I used to think that too
Because I have been lying to myself for the past three years
“It’s just a quick break”
“I’m just winding down and then I’ll get things done”
And yet
Night after night
I find myself lying in bed at 1:30 am
Staring blankly at my phone
Watching anything I can get my hands on to escape
And scrambling the next day to get anything I avoided done
I think that I’m simply just escaping into another world
To take a break from reality
When really I’m avoiding everything that I need to get done
I’ve been lying to myself for 1128 days today
Because I cannot get myself motivated to do anything
I tell myself that I'll get it done in a minute
But I know it won't be done until weeks after it was due
I thought it was simply just escapism
But I am a devout avoidance practicer
There is a difference between escapism and avoidance
Because escapism is a temporary break to set your mind straight
And avoidance is escaping everything at any cost.
another S.A.D piece
Gira Mar 20
There’s a pile of papers
Sitting on my desk
Staring at me
Taunting me
Its eyes blink slowly
And I stare back
Wondering should I get started?
No, I’ll do it later
That was a month ago
It’s a daily struggle now
I’m not avoiding it, I swear
I moved the pile to the corner of the room
So it couldn’t stare at me anymore
The pile has gotten higher
taller
Looming over me
Disappointed that I’d rather read than finish them
Its eyes narrow and it frowns at me
Its stare boring into my back
Revealing the hole where all of my motivation
Dripping out
Drip
Drip
drip
I’m not avoiding it!
I’m not..
I...
But I don’t have any excuses to not do it
another piece I use for S.A.D
Sketcher Dec 2018
Frightful ******* aching feeling,
Fleetly filling till' it's full,
Soon to smack the central ceiling,
When she pushes, then I will pull,
Pull her right back into my arms,
That is right where she's meant to be,
Metaphorically, so no harm,
Will ever come to her or me,
Avoidance will heal,
Getting closer helps,
Avoidance will hurt,
Getting closer pains,
Duality exists,
And life persists,
Always a good side and a bad side,
And life goes, so live, I insist.
Take a breath

Take a bath

Take a pill

Take until your mind stills
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