Keep quiet Don't make a sound Waking the monster is a bad idea That come's with a painful end Two soulless eyes stare up at you A shell of a being It's a body filled with hatred For its mistakes and your happiness It takes it from you when you least expect it During a movie, or playing a game You'll be fine one moment Just living life But then you speak too loud Move too fast And wake the monster within
I can’t feel anymore. Normally I’m in pain or usually I’m sore. But not recent. No recently I am not happy or joyful. But I’m also not sad or depressed. This is new. I can’t explain. It’s like a never ending never breaking emptiness. Something good happens and I’m lucky to crack a slight grin. Maybe this is a good thing. No more sadness no more depression. Maybe I’m just an empty shell. I’ve watched my friends go one by one and I stay here. Sometimes it feels like I’m on another planet. Or maybe I’m living in a dream. I’m more in a notebook than I am outside. I’m more inside my head but honestly nothing is there. This is more than dead inside this is something else. I feel like a zombie off medication I feel like I am in a different world unexistant to everyone else. Like I’m trapped inside a box unable to find the lid like I’m behind a mirror staring at the real me. This is what I live with on a daily basis unable to talk or feel. I’m no one.
You're a flower in the night Where darkness persists You're waiting there For your chance to bloom
And god, it'll be so beautiful
If you're reading this, I love you. The views and reactions I get to my poetry on here help me so much more than any of you could know. We're strangers on the other side of our screens, but in poetry, we're friends and family.
never did fancy crowds nor did I understood those people who did it all for attention. more of the introverted type would be fitting to describe my soul. never what I seem... people often think he's to a fault "inhospitable..." it's just a reaction I guess... to my problem with crowds. In a room with 1 2 3 or more, watch as I shiver, feel the eyes, create stories become a bottle that has lost it's cap at the end of a table with an unavoidable touch beginning to t i p o v e r as all anxieties present themselves on the
f l o o r
fascinating I find how some can be surrounded by people yet still feel so unbothered.
An introverted saint named after a saint Who died for rebirth of faith A ******* is very intuitive and alive Like poem But that’s not who you really are You are running away from your past Your pain you took risk to give rot to a friend’s innocent body without why
The way it glows how the light holds you in silence, taking care of you Experience the energy of where all life began when you met a friend
And yet you keep it so close to you So you don’t have to be afraid of who you are... you might lose your mind you refuses to take it factual. A ******* wants to spend the cell with who he is.
A ******* sees an angel for the first time is a friend when he told a friend is an angel without a *******’s feeling in unclearly to complete desirable to be aware Know your purpose feel your birth Hear at first faintly then distinctly is a friend’s a state of harmony The sweet strains of our union Our friendship heats up the cold universe, And give your tired desperate heart you lost your introversive Purified by our kisses, are eternally healed. It’s destiny by the way it’s weird feeling It is magic?
A ******* is a weak man that he is extremely hazy the way narcissism made him lack.
Your brilliance Your heart is very weak because of flattery You are not afraid in the world you get hidden away from a friend’s sight as light that from your introversion compare with extrovert in experience But you can’t cook to save your life for who you are, you are so desperately to erase in anything with good thing come in your timeline to move to make sure you are safely where your home is with you To believe in something that’s all around us But hidden from our sight The gift of the faith that destiny is willing to create us to be purpose to meet in happenstance that who we are Life can be kind and zealous
Because you are beautiful. —They move me.
An introverted saint
I wanted to let it go our past drunken mistake we did thing to us we didn’t realize we lost our souls and friendships and my trauma