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BB Ward Aug 2020
wish it could be easier
this ticking in my head
endless stream of thoughts
that plagues my days
my nights
my everything

can't seem to escape it
words words words
smother me with their
stupid ******* weight
neverending *******
why couldn't I be different?

without the
second-guessing
analyzing
distrusting
always droning
maybe I'd be happier

if that's even a thing
I don't even know what this is but I do know I'm tired of not getting any sleep
sushii Jan 2019
On a day such as this,
I return from my tiring work.
On a day such as this,
I return to this dull world.

I hear it once more--
The droning, and the grayness it explores.

I feel it coming--
The humming, and the slight drumming...

The thinning beats are composed of children's pitter-patter,
And sullen ***** dish clatter.
The tuneless melody speaks of pointless meanings,
And empty greetings.

I hear it once more--
The droning, and the grayness it explores.

I feel it coming--
The humming, and the slight drumming...

I hear it one more time--
Or so I think,
For the part of me that understands
Has already died.
c Jan 2019
I used to dance alone in my room
I’d spin the spun black under needle
And turn till my walls became one
I’d stretch my face in strain
And mimic pain in movement

I’d measure arms and hands to
The waver of the music
I cried in concaved chest and
Screamed in legs splitting air,
Laughed in fingers spreading wide
And collapsed to the beat’s final throe

I became a simulated symphony, and
So became each dance;
My afternoon secret
I’d forget words and
Mesh into mangled body melody

mmmmmm those hands droning guitar and
a distant voice
in verse,
drumming, drumming

My body curled around each syllable,
Both in question and answer

It was pain, yes
It was heartache
Yes, it was beautiful
But I soon realized
It was not mine

- c
Translating music into movement and interpreting the artist’s pain
Bryce Jan 2018
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Andrew Dec 2016
Standing in a corner
Back turn towards the light.
Focused on the rhythmic judder.
Not of the heart, or of the soul.
For what I am feels soulless.

Hands held close to my body
My breath beats back onto my face
I'm shut in so close
To the total recess of what
My life has been reduced to.

Eyes slowly open and close
While my head dips down again.
Rises up, I stare off, and down again.
Habitually poised in shame.
Always in the end left with some sardonic understanding.

— The End —