"exaustion" poems
I've started a habit, I ignore the best of advice.
I see the gold but I can't reach out and grab it.
My chances lost, thrown away, life doesn't suffice anymore.
Just shouting at the god that has ****** me!!
**** it!! He strikes me, smites me, I can't fight back and he bites me.
Self belief burned and buried, self esteem shot down and slowly drowned.
The power I crave is unteachable, untouchable, unreachable and unbearable.
I have such foolish ambitions and desires.
Never to have greatness and my helpless soul is on fire.
Duck, drop and roll, send me to the poles to freeze, please!!
Reduced to begging, I'm a disgrace, you better take that ugly grin off your face.
I'll continue to flow It like a poet so that you feel my self loathing.
I turn on the TV and look at the news, It's not good apparently.
The whole world's becoming a zoo, It's so true.
And guess what! The sky's not even blue, It's red!!
No wait; thats just the pain in my head, pain from exaustion, or maybe just hunger.
Life's a mess.
I need to get this crippling weight off my chest, can you help me?
Force the world off my chest, then I'll carry it on my shoulders.
Gonna live like this until my fragmenting fragments are broken.
Feb 8, 2011
Feb 8, 2011 at 2:59 AM UTC
Pillows hold so many secrets.
There's the tear stained nights
and midnight chit chats.
There's whispers of regret
and sleepy heads.
Some turn to pillows from over exaustion
and others toss and turn with insomnia.
Drunken heads that have passed out
and ones that block out the bad with sleep.
Sleep talking, monolouges and bed time storys.
"Dont worry my darling it will all be okay"
Woes are spilt and soaked in
by our trusted pillows.
If only they could talk, oh the secrets.
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC
.Friday the twenty seventh of October at twelve thirty nine PM
-*I am getting worse day to day, meaning that I am sad again. Real sad. Try anti-depressants even though they don't work sad. It's funny that I use that word since really it's empty that I feel . . . Or maybe hopeless. Call it whatever you want.
The thing about it though- is that I don't know who to tell. Half of everyone I know can relate which means no one even cares. I'm guilty of the same thing. "Just keep pushing it'll pass." Right? I love my job, my relationship is good, and we're financially stable. Nothing in my life is going wrong so I can't pass the blame onto some little problem. I spent nine hours cleaning my house on Wednesday hoping that I would feel better. I slept all day Thursday hoping that I would feel better. I wrote it down today hoping that I would feel better, but I don't. I don't feel better. Who am I supposed to call about things like this?
Not my sister because she's run out of things to say. There are only so many times you can be sad for no actual reason and expect someone to say something new. I decline therapy. It's expensive and I don't want to talk about a bunch of things that I've already gotten over, and pills? What are pills? I've been down that road and then down even further for . . ? Nothing. For nothing.
So what am I supposed to do when I'm carrying boxes and suddenly want to hurt myself? I've never been a cutter. Never been a burner. I want the weirdest kinds of pain. I want to snap a rubber band on my wrist or bite myself until I bleed. Crazy **** that doesn't make any sense to me. I work out everyday. I drink water. I bathe. I eat.
Honestly I'm really high functioning. I don't really spend a lot of time talking to other humans anymore, but I can chalk that up to losing my super empath powers I guess. I call it independence but it could just be exaustion. I'm so tired of self diagnosing. I can tell you what's wrong with someone else in thirty seconds flat yet somehow my own sadness continuously baffles me.
I guess it doesn't really matter. I'm not going to **** myself or do something crazy. I used to cheat on my boyfriend or let someone hit me during *** but I've grown out of that kind of stupid behavior. For awhile I was writing essays about how to get through what I'm going through which were awesome for a lot of people but don't help me at all
Maybe I'm doomed to save everyone in the world other than myself. That would make sense since there's nothing I can do about my condition. If that's what I want to call it. So I guess maybe I'm just having a bad time.*
I'm sure it will pass soon.
Sep 27, 2019
Sep 27, 2019 at 2:53 PM UTC
There once we're two princess
Fire and Ice
And in one another
They found their vice
And they decided
As goes the lore
To see which side
Would win a two-person war
So they met in the city
Right on the bay
And with a bow, crouch, and lunge
They started the day
They began in the capital
A grand skyscraper
By the end of the fight
There was only a crater
The ground quakes and split
So Fire jumped in
With her use of the magma
She was sure she would win
Then Ice jumped back
And in her dismay
Slipped into the waters
Of the capitol bay
She had an idea
Right then, very quick
She cooled down the bay
Into ice thirteen feet thick
And as the magma-ice storm
Raged on on that beach
The city and earth
Started to breach
By the end of the fight
Neither princess prevailed
No victory was won
No winner was hailed
The city was destroyed
And the bay, too
The fire, ice, and rubble
Left only a gravelly slough
The princesses both died
Of exaustion that night
For they thought the other's end
Proved their might
But when white meets black
It mixes in grey
Much like the fire and ice
And the water that day
For when two equal forces
Opposing collide
No one prevails
There are left no sides
Yin-yang turns to grey
When the world collides
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 8:39 AM UTC
It feels like a waiting game,
there is just,
nothing,
we are all born with a noose around our neck,
the rope woven with exaustion and the monotonous blanket that engulfed us after turning twenty five,
it's pulling us closer to the enevitable - that
nothing,
we are benevolant in it's arms!
What are we doing here?
what are we achieving?
What is the point!
the sheer unimportance of us as a person,
is omnipresent in my mind and i can't cope.
Why do we compete like this to survive,
to fill ourseleves with pretty trials and challenges,
why do we love when it will only lead to heart break?
Why do we awaken when we will only sleep again?
Why do we live just to put off the
nothing.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 12:50 PM UTC
The modern slave
We al stand and cheer with every life we see always helping others and making sure love and life comes to all those who wait. Live is life is everything but hope is hard to find while the man walks down a ragged road earning every penny pushing his hands down the dirty pit of life.
A woman walks into the despair of work and sees a life of slavery in every respect working for a poor wage and down by a manager that loves ttheri money and power of sitting and thowing their hands about and mouth opens uttering words of of anger and hate. the woman works her shift and and falls onto a bed of exaustion abd ready for night to end and day to begin another miserable pit of salve at the shop of hell.
A couple walk in to the hell of hope and look around with their gold rings and smile of greed while they look around at the poor souls of despair working for a whip of greed. The couple walks towards their big limousine and thow the odd change at the beggar across the road and inot the car back to their manson of love and money of cold to sit back and laugh at the worlds misfortune of life.
produced and written by wayne mockler
copyright wayne mocker
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 2:33 PM UTC