#mentalpoems
Knock, no response,
only a hollow sound.
Like my soul, it is dark.
Emptiness, and tears.
I add just a pinch of
too much salt to my food.
Don't immediately react,
when my cat scratches.
The shower on max,
as my knees weaken
almost at their collapse.
It feels good.
The only hope left,
is to get better.
But what does that mean?
Being better, truly?
Pulling my hair a bit tight
when I'm stressed.
Smile on cue,
even if it doesn't reach.
I feel the bumps of my scars,
though they only increase.
I say it was my cat,
"Well, don't let him do that!"
The signs weren't textbook,
they were there, real, life-like.
They might have been subtle,
but unlike me, myself and I.
They were alive.
Feb 20
Feb 20, 2026 at 3:12 PM UTC
Break open the center and let it out
this nurtured, confounded realization of loneliness
as it spills. It gushes into the streets,
infecting everyone with an emptiness—unnoticed,
we’re walking amongst corpses that can’t smell their kind
till heads turn at the sound of someone living, screaming, writhing—
dying.
Like how we arrange lovers and hearts in cupboards in the mind
murderers and betrayers roam freely, killed often
no room for consolidation and refinement, schedules don’t permit
the need to feel is greater than the need to believe
and no words of wisdom or profundity can replace the hunger
to crave the flesh, the mind, the soul, becoming whole in anger and confusion—
simply.
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 4:57 AM UTC