Let me rewind your mind
Back to a time
When everything was fine.
When you weren't inclined to think
About the choices you had made
Or had voices to replay
Because you were still a child.

Now fast forward some years later
When you're quiet
That's when you're hating.
All those demons are berating
Every door until they've caved in
Questioning any memory created
Any plans made they were too hasty
That major imprints to get ingrained
And every glimmer here was wasted
Because every single day since
Could've been a better one

I'm what I'd call quietly violent
When I close my eyes
I'm morbidly inspired
Not suicidal,
More...tragically insightful
I'd be lying if I said the thoughts not crossed my mind though...

Provocative cranium conversations
Don't make sense, get irritating
Off hand comments on every wavelength,
That find endless ways of blaming
Yourself for all the sane things
But unlike the shrew
You cannot tame it
And emotions get abrasive
Leaving you worn out and deflated,
By your very own persuasions.

I'm what I'd call quietly violent
When I keep my eyes closed
I'm morbidly inspired
Not suicidal,
More...tragically insightful
I'd be lying if I said the thoughts not crossed my mind though...

When chained to past imaginations
It puts a strain on your relations
Which coping with gets less instinctive
Cursed with fleeting flickered wishes
Giving pictures to each vision
And over time you can't restrain it
Until each detail's contemplated
For a moment
Then sedated.
But the voices still keep raining
Cryptic mental space invaders.
Welcome to adult life the playlist
"Psychologically Draining".

What's up with the fade?
Is there something wrong?
I wonder if you read my note,
I slipped it into the woods.

You painted to me,
And your art was full of red,
You counted the frustrations,
And afflicted your mind.

I wish I would hug you tighter,
To feel the beats of your heart,
I would know how much life was left,
Now, the silence scares me away.

sometimes
i expect people to be mind readers
because isolating myself inquires
friends to notice my absent features.

right?
well. not really.

is it too much to ask
if i am okay or even ALIVE?
sometimes people tend to hide behind
their shallow social media disguise

and i am sick of it.

morever,
i am sick of feeling redundant
unloved and absolutely angry about
experiencing an inner abundance.

that mental illness is giving me a hard time
because lacking of serotonin means
to struggle daily with a weird kind of paradigm

meaning that
despite people telling me that they do love and care,
i will never believe them because
from the very moment they share
that same feeling with someone else
i want to get a nom de guerre
and quickly travel to god knows where.

© fey (08/03/20)

No one’s perfect, but I feel worthless sometimes.
My crimes are not legal offenses but are enzymes
that define, divide, and decline my spine.
It’s cancer unbenign to see wine derived
from her water. But I would see it and still love her.
I would slaughter my inhibitions to be her lover;
to concur with her words, offer her what she prefers.
I would burr my feelings for others to spur my feelings for her.

For her, I would give her whatever she deserves. But how sad, how mad,
how bad is that? To make my heart clad
with false hopes and rash rushes isn’t a gladness.
It’s tempting sadness that accesses and addresses
my weaknesses. Weaknesses that slither and slide
like snakes in my eyes. So sweet are her dresses,
so seductive is her sight. She makes my mind
sad with sycophant sensations, and we turn to messes.

There's always a tipping point,
a space where you reside
when the balance is nearly equal,
but not quite.
You're on the edge of the blade,
and all it would take
was a whisper of a breeze
to tip the scale to one side.

There are so many things
that are constantly slipping
from my fingers.
As much as I reach
and lunge
and grab for them,
they always manage to escape me.

Even when I think things
are going well,
the slightest change
movement
of anything
can shake me to my core.

An earthquake
is ripping through my world
and I'm not sure if I can
hang on long enough
to make it.

There's an emptiness inside me
that hasn't ever been filled
and I have always ignored it
pushed it back
starved that wanting in me.

There are things that
I can't think about
truths about me and my life
that would utterly break me
if I looked too close.
I have to keep them sealed
keep those things
away.
They keep surfacing
keep bubbling up
trying to be seen.
Flinching will mean
acknowledging them
but their noise is nearly unbearable.

I needed you
to have more faith in me
to believe in me
more than I did.
I never thought I was good enough
never thought I was worthy
but I always tried.
I always tried my hardest
to be what I should
to do what you wanted.

It was never enough.
Nothing was enough.
Your disappointment
is cracking me apart
your judgement
and criticism
is breaking me.
I know the truth, and I can't help but wish
I had never learned it.
I always thought that honesty
was everything
but I almost would have rather
you lied.

I can't stand this.
Being around you
having to pretend that
I don't know.
That I'm fine.
I can't talk to you
I can't trust you
I can't do anything.

If I acknowledge this pain
will it take away my last shred of resolve?
Will it shatter me into a million pieces
incapable of being picked up
and put back together?
Will I learn and grow from the truth?

I'm not sure I'm willing to find out.

All on your back in life and death
Weight of the world on your bare back
Carrying a nuclear backpack for Cuban Soviet missiles
Darling lady riding your back in the dawn surf
Tiger clawing your back as you flee the jungle
Car engine weighing you down back style new parts
Bust your back bend your knees picking up your cat
Bergen on your back as you hike the Eigar North face
Weight of dead souls pushing you back down
Rugby playing popped your spine like piano keys
Take care of your back or its chair time