"indiffrent" poems
It's only on days like this that i think about it
it being us and whatever i wished that was.
Past and future coliding into this infinitely sad present.
The window to my left shows only grey, and wet
because its only on cold wet days like this that i think about it
but it always changes , happy, or sad, or indiffrent, it, never seems to improve.
It being us and whatever i should stop wishing that was,
but to stop thinking is harder than it seems, i have to distract myself
and the window to my left shows only grey, and wet.
I seem to be eternally restless now, never able to settle or be satisfied
always changing; happy, sad, indiffrent, never seeming to improve.
I draw pictures, write words, hum songs, punch walls, and blacken my lungs with second rate tar
but i never stop thinking, with as hard as it is to distract myself.
Sure sometimes i can get my mind to other things, happier things, but
I seem to be eternally restless now, never able to be satisfied, or settle on real happyness.
The things i do settle on, are disturbing or violent.
I draw ****** pictures, write sadistic words, hum funeral songs, punch walls, and blacken my soul with second rate filth,
no matter where i turn all i see is sadness, and slowly i think i might be losing hope and sanity.
Sure my mind can sometimes get to other happier things but
they are all fake, to me at least, and i have nothing to be happy about.
I settle the disturbing or violent things i can do
on my guilt, i don't know what was dreams, reality, movies, books
memories of the past and future coliding into this infinitely sad view of the present.
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 7:21 PM UTC