Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
imposter artist May 2019
I am disconnected
from my entire self
like these fingerprints
I’ve known my whole life
somehow aren’t mine.

Out of body experiences
and feeling like
I’m on the outside looking in
has become the norm.

I’ve wiggled my way
into these stories
this background
but I don’t belong here.

Someone is going to notice
call me out
for being an imposter
in my own life.

I’ve existed for decades
feeling like I’m living
in someone else’s skin.
Keyan R Oct 2018
I've thought of suicide before
breathing my final days; Mi Amor
Holding onto life at its core
to be better than I was before

I've thought about the impact devastation and the react
Those that would come in contact
them thinking thoughts about me
My lifeless body..." yep, there's me"
The visually impaired who didn't see another way
Now others that stare in the same direction
Share the same contacts

Voices of opinions
because everyone's entitled
like the start of an adventure
the deceased cannot change the title
Some still in denial
And others have already crossed the sea,
And life will go on regardless of me.
Many people are going through worse stuff than me. When you only focus on yourself and get lost in your own bubble I feel like people miss many opportunities that go their way. It's much easier to put blame on someone else instead of confronting them on your own,..
Matthew Sutton Aug 2018
There are conversations in which my mental frame leaves the
                               parameters of my body.

No longer can I fathom the concept of ‘being in love’
        I witness dates
        and
        feel as an apprentice of such a trade might
        an inadequacy to replicate the models of those before me

Gone are my indefinite moments of sanity
        Childhood is laced in linens of silk
        Soft-spoken words
        and
        Finely crafted spontaneity lacking responsibility

Ceaseless are the times in which I must conceal the thoughts I abhor
        Depravity seems to chain my soul
        which leads to
        a Resolution in pixelation
        due to
       a visual handicap which has left my eye blind to choosing right

My friends make me happy
        but as a glass transforms back-&-forth between half-empty &
        half-full
        one glance across our wooden dinner is all it takes
        for
My thoughts to liquidate into bars of gold
Telling myself I must exchange their conversation for my motivation
        heavy on the mind
        light keystrokes

Once i reawaken at 1 A.M. from my conscious-coma
i ask myself
What good is it?
        To be thoughtful
        Yet have no action
What good is it?
        To fantasize
        Yet refuse your own inclination for renovation
What good is it?
        To be dramatic
        Yet have no one at your performance

I do understand what it means to ‘be’

        Watching Tuesday suns burn in loops of ongoing weeks
                              -    lacking peaks    -
        As I continue to lay under clothes line
        Wrapped in a melody of melancholy

But I do not understand what it means to be ‘me’

        My mind feels as a lemon candy might,
        sour at first bite -
        hollow on the inside, then gone
        Without ever truly knowing what it tastes like.
Poetic T Oct 2016
temperatures stale
apparitions lingering

looking at oneself
Spike Harper Jan 2016
The smoke has yet to lift.
Giving the horizon a eerie feel.
The whistle of death has long since passed.
Even the thunder that lashed out so hungrily.
Has been subdued with the souls scoured.
Numerous holes are sporadically placed among the rubble.
Some are filled.
Like the contents of a blender set to mince.
I peer into the stagnant pool that collected in the smoldering depths.
Not even the earth seemed to want them.
The urge to dive in overtakes my senses.
And the remnant cries are getting stronger.
With every breathe does my mind crystalize.
Frozen in the moments that distort this rigid oasis of despair.
The need to return beckons.
Yet integration is nearly complete.
These arms have become strangers.
Just like the rest of this surrogate being.
The storm is coming.
But I remain.
Watching.
As the familiar figure takes its leave.
Grinning with every step.
Jack Thompson Sep 2015
All day long I live out of body.
Just seeing flashes of a life worth living.
I see a woman I don't recognize.
But my gosh she's worth loving.

When I see you undress,
I could swear it's the first time.
When you kiss me goodbye that feeling in my chest,
knows you'll be right back.
The things we share are far beyond the physical.
We live together at the opposite end of superficial.

I spend my whole day searching for you with the scent you left on my collar.
Knowing you'll be back is never enough I need you now.
I thought I found you once.
But it was the wrong face right name.
Why does my life feel like someone elses game?

Will I ever find you when I bridge two planes.
I could exist on another plane entirely.
The way I look at you like your out of this world.
© All Rights Reserved Jack Thompson 2015
Jack Thompson Mar 2015
Have you ever been angry?
So angry you've scared yourself.
Because for a second you saw that face staring back from within.
An immense depth fast approaching.
So absent of light the only reason you caught a glimpse was those eyes.
Beaming back at you with illumination so frightening your core began to shudder and rumble.

Crumbled down and watched this beast claw its way out.
Over rock and mortar. Through coarse cage of steel.
Those cold eyes staring down - helplessly watching.

This beast was once kept sealed.
Who gave it this key to destruction.
This shapeless fluid in motion soulless tragedy.
Black velvet drape dipped in fiery energy.
Pure hate which had been compressed for eternity.
Now concentrated and intent on wreaking havoc.

I sent my armies. I sent them all.
Countless deaths and yet I sent more.
Quick slaughter - not the painless type.
This beast they could not stall.
Thrashes of bodies. Clawed and torn.
Festering flesh flying from fallen.
Axe, Sword and Mace soaked,
dripping in warm fresh blood-pounding hate.
Shatters of armor and unrecognizable corpses.
What do I do?
It seeks me as a vessel - to be worn.
I can feel the hate changing me.
Quickly now or I'll soon deform.
© All Rights Reserved Jack Thompson 2015
JennyFrenzy Oct 2014
I walk through walls when I travel
To a midnight blood orange sky
Iridescent raindrops in soft motion
All discerned with my third eye

The astral world is tranquil
But not everything is as it seems
Creatures just heads are hiding
Inside articulated trees

Madly twirl to change the scenery
Watch as fish swim in venetian glass
Jump as high as painted mountain tops
Then rest on undulating grass

Weightless flights to brilliant Luna
Imagination guides the course
The realm of out of body
A thread embroidered to our source
alice Jun 2014
Opening my heart,
opening my mind;
I inhaled
without regret
and watched
the world
unwind.

Comfortable
in my
non-proverbial
sling-shot,
I was catapulted
from this Earth,
out of my body
and into
Hyperspace:
a sight
of radiant
splendor.

Streams
of bright,
neon color
soaked through
my vision,
illuminating
the blanketed
brilliance
of
the experience.

This eternal
round-about
spun
in wide circles
around my being,
rapidly
gaining speed,
taking flight.

Time
broke apart;
it's pieces:
fractured,
severed
and split
into
the expanse
that lay
all around me.

The walls
glistened;
scintillating
with fervent
sparkle,
a shimmering
twinkle
of prismatic
grandeur.

Breathing deep,
I felt my spirit
begin to return.

With limbs
outstretched
I grasped for
the reality
I had
just barley
touched
with
****** fingertips.

Eyes opening
back to the
shadowbox
of this
existence,
a singular
tear
escaped.

Reappearing,
I wept.
Written after a DMT journey. Magic is real.

— The End —