i can't feel the paper anymore.

the gentle white hue slipping through delicate fingers,
words crumbling, unwritten.

i want to grasp the remaining ideas, before the malnourished muse decides to leave for good.

like the rest of them.

© fey (01/04/20)

a pillow is something i can lean on
suddenly, my favorite song played
i hugged my pillow
pouring all my strength in it
not realizing how many tears
i had let out

"i give up... i g-give up"
i repeated
tears continues to ran down
"i hate this... i hate this feeling-"
a scream echoed in an empty room
a scream of a sad
and lonely little girl...

Dead men suffer not
while the living rust with rot.
Streams of pain drain from my eyes,
as I too, despise this rain of demise.
Screams beam from the inside but my
outside shines somewhat bright.
Like a tempest tossing me, I’m drowning
not of passion, only despair.
Here, I cry while the night
chases away my light.
Days are bittersweet, yielding the promise
of beauty but hiding the inevitable fright.
Lucid love licks my lips lustfully, lively,
as white waves wash wildly over me,
but they can’t run free.
I wonder what is right to be.
Fury runs free, as it never clots.
My dreams twist my hopes into knots
because others do not hold the shots
from a cruel life. I fight, kick, pound,
but I can’t scream out loud.
And so I die a death without sound.

Does my life lie within the sighs of limelit crying?
Stained forever, its dim, outshined, most importantly, not shining.
Loose
Dying by the poorest of timing,
it seems strange of me.
Not to mention that chirping
Usurping
Word murdering phrases curdling
and unsuddenly curling nails back, furling the unfurled.
It's not working.

these are the days of doom
u seldom leave ur room
u live in perpetual gloom

yet also the days of hope
how to cope?
u pray and u *****

toward self illumination ...
becoming an angel
(pure love)

and yet You must love Your Self

In my experience many poets, especially younger poets, are loving, caring human beings who struggle with feelings of low self esteem and low self worth. Some of them engage in self harm, such as cutting. But they would never be so negatively judgmental of others, or do others deliberate harm. This poem is for them, in the hope they will come to value themselves as much as they do their loved ones and friends.

Keywords/Tags: Angel, Angels, Human Angel, self, self discovery, self help, self worth, low self esteem, self harm, depression, hopeless, hopelessness, agoraphobia, doom, gloom, cloud, dark cloud, hope, recovery, cope, coping, illumination, enlightenment, ascension, love, pure love, true love, self love, angelic, heaven, heavenly

There is a crime that
goes beyond
denunciation.

There is a sorrow,
a hollowness
that weeping
can't even begin
to symbolize.

There is a failure in
life
that topples and
belittles all
success.

When trying to focus on
life
is like looking through
a kaleidoscope,
when sounds liquify, and
odors take shape and
waltz
to sullen night music,
life must end.

Life must end because
a profit can no longer be
ripped from your
hands, your knowledge,
your punctuality, or your
dedication to
the machine.

Ever since I can remember,
I sensed the
randomness of it
all.
I fought against it
I had faith; I believed.