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Psyche has moods
Sometime happy, others  gloomy
Psyche  has moods
Sometimes wise,  other times  fool

psyche has moods
Sometimes, I wander
Others, I surrender

Psyche has moods
Sometime melancholic,
Others sanguine
Psyche has moods
sometimes  choleric,
Others phlegmatic
what are you,
a husk of what the world demands,
their expectations and beliefs,
but not all is them

Some are your expectation,
but where are they coming from,
what wastelands are these lunatic ideas from,
spawning an undue end.

Psyche of yours,
moulded through hammers of plenty,
in the fire of false pretenses,
is any of you even real

Do you see the small hints,
your true self, the loathful one,
how long will you sustain such ignorance,
false faces on dead ideas

granting their wish to bring down,
with the grace and might of a maggot,
soul of yours will forever question
where do they start and when you end
when you start questioning what you really want and what the world wants you to desire
Eman Aug 2014
When you refuse sadness
Where does it go?
About the darkest form of existence
Can you ever know?
When you abuse madness
Where does it bleed?
In the deepest hole of existence
Can one hear a tread?
On existence.

#my #dark #poems
Dante Rocío Jun 15
Artistic existing and being,
however it is,
comes from the verge
of the land of sense,
somehow non-consciously
and dazing,
like the prophesying Pythia,
yet not that supernaturally
“Artyści gdzieś na skraju krainy zmysłów.
Z dala od śmiertelników,
gdzie wszystko jest tak ulotne”
Ellie Harris Apr 28
What do I stand for?
Such a simple question,
sometimes incessant in your mind.
Gnawing at your psyche
asking, demanding, screaming.

stand for?

I know...
****, I didn't know what I was trying to do with this, but I hope you enjoy it!
Kodi Udezue Mar 5
I have a thought that tickles down my soul bank of thoughts.
It's a thought that dilutes all the sweet taste of all I thought.
One that gaols the psyche and maneuver in the midst of all my anxiety.

I would have uttered it to my close companion,
but the thoughts of being ridiculed consistently quenched out the desire to communicate.

Can I find a pure one who can listen and not tell the world my greatest fear?
The dependent one is but an atom in the midst of particles.
I need to dig deep till I find one who can bear my world with me.
Maria Etre Feb 25
my tears
eroded my
further away
from the
Archer Feb 22
I built a fortress in my mind
To keep me safe from people like you
I would call out to them from my barred windows
Wave and smile
Some would try to come in
Finding the door locked
And no answers to their inquiries
They would usually trudge away
Saddened by the rejection
Some would knock louder
Shout and holler
Some would search for other entrances
Being mortared and bricked long ago
They would lose interest and disappear
This is my home
There is no welcome mat
No glowing lanterns
No jovial voices wafting out from inside
Nothing enticing an approach
How did you find your way in
Please tell me
Oh the mess you made
Will take years to restore
Things broken into a trillion minute pieces
Can never be fully cleaned up
Where is the weakness in my home
I must find it
I have searched for weeks
Crawling around with a candle for light and heat
With nothing more to show for my efforts
But bloodied knees
And the slivers from my shattered life
Impaled in my palms, now raw and lacerated
The rooms have a stench
Musky tapestry, burnt wood
Tears, shame, walnut and oak
Maybe it always stunk in here
But it was at least livable
Which is more than I can say about it now
Why have you done this
You invaded my home selling promises of love
And fair weather
Cheap sales tactics from a desperate soul
But I bought them
All of them
Without question or warranty
Now as I survey the damage
I realize I need to find that fault in my castle
Not to do as I bellowed I would
Not to close it off to you
And to anyone else clever enough to find and exploit it
But to use it for my own escape
The hills look beautiful from here
I've always wanted to explore them
Lush greens and rolling grasses
Yellow flowers and white fluffy clouds
I need to vacate this premises
Most think I keep this place shut
Blocked off to all, willfully
But the truth is
I destroyed the key long ago
In a blind rage
Not anticipating I would ever want to leave
I am my own prisoner
My own cruel warden
A place I built for safety and comfort
Now offers none of the fore mentioned
Only a cruel reminder of what I once was
And what I will surely become if I don't leave here
Going door to door
Selling lies and pain
Masquerading as hopes and dreams
Lurking around  
Looking for holes to skulk my way in
Rapping on their entrance ways
Announcing a salesman has arrived
Longer but has meaning to me
Moushmi Mehta Dec 2019
I looked in

the mirror today
She looked back at me,
Scared but kind of okay
We talked for a while

I finally asked her, what’s wrong
She trembled & said, “I may be broken, no..
Truly, we are all kind of broken.
But something is breaking away, everyday.”

Like a faulty guitar string
Out of tune, out of luck
Waiting to be pulled, plugged and played
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