"punishes" poems
Especially when the October wind
With frosty fingers punishes my hair,
Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on fire
And cast a shadow crab upon the land,
By the sea's side, hearing the noise of birds,
Hearing the raven cough in winter sticks,
My busy heart who shudders as she talks
Sheds the syllabic blood and drains her words.
Shut, too, in a tower of words, I mark
On the horizon walking like the trees
The wordy shapes of women, and the rows
Of the star-gestured children in the park.
Some let me make you of the vowelled beeches,
Some of the oaken voices, from the roots
Of many a thorny shire tell you notes,
Some let me make you of the water's speeches.
Behind a post of ferns the wagging clock
Tells me the hour's word, the neural meaning
Flies on the shafted disk, declaims the morning
And tells the windy weather in the ****
Some let me make you of the meadow's signs;
The signal grass that tells me all I know
Breaks with the wormy winter through the eye.
Some let me tell you of the raven's sins.
Especially when the October wind
(Some let me make you of autumnal spells,
The spider-tongued, and the loud hill of Wales)
With fists of turnips punishes the land,
Some let me make of you the heartless words.
The heart is drained that, spelling in the scurry
Of chemic blood, warned of the coming fury.
By the sea's side hear the dark-vowelled birds.
5.5k
Begot Intentions can impurify
Unsolicited Charity does attempt
Even much as a Pickled Song can try
Bites back at you; And bills you for Contempt
What now the Rage of Imperial Process
Punishes the Dreader to stock and refill?
Nowadays you stick to perform your Best
Later on you sit by the Window-Sill
Still, check this Stubborn Loyalty in me
Then decide if Ignorance you forgot
My Words mean Truth; Even if Force-Believe
Just to show your Radio, the Model-Lot.
Still Deaf, eh? Even when the Snake has cast,
Flashing films on such scales you know will pass.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 2:59 AM UTC
"Pray to God. Everything will be all right."
"He'll heal you. I promise."
"Believe in Him and everything will be all right."
I gave up on my belief in God when I was in eighth grade.
I was diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety.
My family abandoned me.
My grandmother hated me.
My friends thought I was crazy.
And my arms just kept bleeding.
"Pray."
"Believe."
"God is merciful."
"Ask and you shall receive."
And I did.
I did ask.
I asked,
And asked,
And asked.
But nothing ever happened.
I have horrified my grandparents,
My aunts,
My uncles,
My cousins.
I don't believe.
And they think I'm going to go to Hell for that.
Too late, I think.
I am in Hell.
The depression tears away at my insides,
Leaving me a lifeless,
Empty
Husk.
It scars my arms with its sharp fingernails,
And drives my friends and family away from me.
"Oh, just pray to God;
He'll heal you."
I don't believe in God.
There is no God.
There is only a fanciful imagination.
Humans are so desperate to have something to believe in,
Something that is bigger than themselves.
So they created "God",
An all-mighty being
Who punishes the Wicked
And rewards the Good.
And so they have something.
And they create rules to live by,
So they become the Good
When in reality
They are the Wicked.
There is no God.
They say He is merciful.
They say He is kind.
They say He loves all humans equally.
That's a lie.
If there is such a thing as "God",
He sure doesn't like me.
He has given me a life
That is pure torture.
He has punished me for something I never did.
He has created the ultimate prison
For someone who used to follow him so devoutly.
And what about the others?
They say God gives no trial
That His followers can't handle.
So what about those that commit suicide,
*Because they couldn't handle it.
Because they couldn't take it anymore.
Because it was too much?*
But God is good to the rich.
He showers them with more riches
And more happiness
And more joy.
He gives them everything they could ever want.
Only the happy
And well-off
And rich
Believe in God.
If there is such a thing as God,
He is the God of the Rich.
He is the God of the Fortunate.
He is not the God of the Unhappy.
He is not the God of the Poor.
He isn't my God.
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC
i'm searching for something that i can't reach
she sleeps irregularly. she cries and breathes all at the same time
but does not make a sound. her face falls apart every morning when
she realizes she is still alive. the anger coursing through the blood
vessels in her body is not caused by anything, it comes rapidly and
mockingly. she counts to ten and holds the air inside her lungs and
hopes to any being listening that her nose stops working so that the
air inside her can expand and then eventually diminsh so that she
can tear herself apart all over again. she eats unhealthy. stuffing salty
fries and refrigerated microwaved chicken down her throat and forcing
the urge to throw it all out down to her skeleton so that the food
remains in her body, making bumps in her stomach and sticking
out of her ribs like unwanted monsters. she likes being ugly. she likes
that no one ever notices her and when they do they don't say a
word she likes that her own body betrays her and punishes her eyes
when she wakes up in the morning and realizes she is still alive.
she is a phantom. she is a ghost. she is a whisper. knowing her will not
be an adventure it will be a maze filled with poisoned leaves and razor
sharp rocks. her smothering brown eyes will captivate you and
undo every single knot in your body and make you feel like gravity
does not exist. but she will not be pretty. she will never be beautiful.
touching her will be like trying to collect shards of glass off of the floor
from a bottle of wine that you accidentally dropped. she will not
love you. she will not love herself. she will only convince you that she is
happy being a mess, a disaster and you will have no
choice but to believe her because your love is short lived and
only exists when she feels worthless and lonely enough to want
your company. you know this. she knows this. neither of you will
say it. the truth is an ancient phonebook neither of you have
ever heard of. she is not a hurricane, there is no eye in her
(h.l.)
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 7:24 PM UTC
Oh, the great city's madness when at nightfall
The crippled trees gape by the blackened wall,
The spirit of evil peers from a silver mask;
Lights with magnetic scourge drive off the stony night.
Oh, the sunken pealing of evening bells.
***** who in her icy shivers sheds a still-born child.
With raving whips God's fury punishes brows possessed.
Purple pestilence, hunger that breaks green eyes.
Oh, the horrible laughter of gold.
But silent in dark caves a stiller humanity bleeds,
Out of hard metals moulds the redeeming head.
2.5k
Her hair, reminiscent of glass
Dusty perplexions, missing pearlescent marbles
She's a dream awaiting the arrival of the next writer
To speak of her story to the masqueraded creature
Posing as light to the dark universe she's encased in
She's the raging madness in her soul
Thrashing yet loving anyone who kisses her
Hidden love affairs, descending silhouettes
Leftover clothes tossed unruly; a decadent stench
Intrusive but polite to wilting foliage
Lip stains, droplets of blood, dislocated jaws
Time, unforgiving as always, punishes its victims
Misery coats her barely twinkling soul
The one who shatters her mirror
May forgive her to finally be free.
Jun 3, 2024
Jun 3, 2024 at 3:36 PM UTC
Perspiration accumulates into salty beads,
Falling into her eyes, eyes that have lost their gleam.
We’ve been trapped like savaged animals for three agonizing nights.
Diminutive apertures in this death box supply minimal light.
The screech of the rails are a bittersweet melody to our ears.
For we only know what these horrific monsters have taught. Fear.
As the door slams open, I’m pried from my wife.
I wonder if this will be the last moment I see her smile.
My people are marked with terror and pain.
I realized were barricaded in with barbed wire chains.
My subverted clothes reek of secretion.
This camp is untrustworthy, raising apprehension.
They claim we are not human.
But I ask, do we not bleed, when we are injured?
Do we not dream blissful thoughts?
Do we not pray to the same God?
The same God that punishes the innocent;
Bringing blithe to those sinners that shed blood.
When we lose our cherished, our loved ones,
Do we not shed tears? Do we not mourn?
No! We must not, for we are not human,
According to what the Nazis see.
We are the innocent, robbed of life.
They are the monsters who roam free.
At least, that’s what I see.
I see men, women, and children stripped of clothing,
Stripped of dignity, stripped of all things humane.
While these barbaric monstrosities make allegations.
Claiming they are purifying society, when they are to blame.
Men lose wives; children lose mothers.
Families are torn apart; sisters lose brothers.
Those of us who survive, work until brittle.
Still we carry on, if our minds are able.
Backs of men are scarred from arduous lashes.
While the sick are trapped in rooms imbued with gases.
My hands are enveloped with calicoes and cuts.
My mind grows weary, I dream an ending abrupt.
I’m crippled with anger, and tears that still drip sore.
My heart crescendos with pain, about to implode.
It’s difficult to refuse the tears when I hear the desolate screams.
I’m trapped in a perpetual nightmare, a ceaseless dream.
Still I carry on in life, for that is the greatest revenge.
The day we feel the kiss of freedom, will be the day we have avenged.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
the real question is not
whether god exists
but whether you believe in one
no matter which denomination
do you believe
that there is someone
who commands your fate
created everything
makes earth move and the universe
protects the good and punishes the bad
and will reward you after death
according to the life you led
with everlasting bliss
or fiery hell eternal
or do you rather think
that it is our responsibility alone
to live in peace
not war
protect all life
not only our own
and not pretend
that hunger sickness
lack of water and clean air
are simply natural
if you are a believer
remember all religions
respect all forms of life
if you are prone to think it's humans' obligation
remember those who do believe
may also strive to do their best
the common goal of all
should be the recognition
that whatsoever god
may have created us
would not have wished
for our abolition
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 6:11 PM UTC
This is why the teacher punishes you
for reading too far ahead.
I've worked hard to swim out here
and I just feel hurt and alone;
drifting out at sea.
Being a radical means always
having to be the hysteric or the sensitive.
Apologizing even when
you know you're right.
Being irrational,
when rationalization means
accepting the dominant ideology.
Always having to be wrong,
because of some "crack in your armor"
or some blemish on your record.
Being the biggest ******* in the room,
not even because you want to,
but because you have to.
Alienating everyone.
Capitalize on who you are,
and you can smother everyone eventually!
Your profit is such that you
can push everything away!
Sleep easy knowing you were right.
Sleep easy.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 10:48 AM UTC
My friend told me
When the spring wind blows.
We can see a witch.
“Does a witch really exist?”
“She does!”
“Because my mother is a witch.”
“You’re a liar.”
“It’s true.”
“it’s very easy
To fly through the sky.”
Someday,
About the huge moon night,
While we were looking at the moon
From the window,
We were standing the sand of Arizona spring.
We were standing on the sand that has nothing
And looking at the sand that has nothing
And looking at the moon.
We only found one.
We plucked a dry grass
And we came back immediately.
That grass we brought back
Has a warm smell
That I’ve never smelled.
The witch
Put it in a bottle
And kept it importantly.
“Is it very important?”
I asked.
“Next to you,
It’s my vision.”
She said.
I don’t understand.
The witch went somewhere
And hasn’t come back since.
So, I can’t ask.
My friend that told me so
Always shared her secrets.
We can’t make
Secrets by ourselves.
If there is a person
Who can hide each other’s secrets,
A secret will be born.
If we have the same secret,
I prefer a big one.
I’m tired of human talk.
Are you a witch, too?
You always visited from nowhere.
The magical words that you wrote
On the ground.
Please tell me again.
Having a secret is
Similar to obtaining treasures of the world.
She told me so.
My friend is no longer here.
The witch story that she flies in the spring wind.
The small witch story
That she walks playing tricks.
She punishes mean fellows.
She is always spiteful.
Talk to me about the wonderful witch story.
The magical song written on the inside of the hat.
That song I finally learned.
I can’t remember it anyway.
The mysterious song.
Sing with me.
And,
Let me keep a secret again.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 6:56 AM UTC
gentle, but hesitant
he lifts the china to his lips,
and like the tea scolds his tongue,
he punishes himself.
at this time,10:30 a.m, weekdays
she brewed the same Seattle cinnamon
that now flooded his system with her memory;
through Puget Sound and
evaporated into constant cloudy skies that pour
rain into the mind of a man of many mistakes;
last of which being losing her and
the comfort she brought;
something as constant and
as taken for granted as
the weather.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 7:30 PM UTC
Some sweet memories of my Village and childhood days :-)
My village, is an Evergreen Heaven, full of singing birds, the crystal clear river with a non-stop flow of water.
A graceful temple of the powerful Goddess, with it attached the sacred Banyan tree. And a beautiful swing by rope for the kids to enjoy their evening.
Men sit chatting under the Banyan tree. Women washing clothes and gossiping near the river side. My village, being a part of God's own country is calm and peaceful for both the old ones and the young ones.
Enchanting festivals happen, specially during summer. The best part of my life is my childhood days in my village. It is blessed by nature with full of greenery on all its sides with paddy fields, coconut,tamarind,mango, neem and the list goes on.
I enjoyed my childhood with my cousins playing Hide and Seek, Lock and Key, Making mud pots which are never allowed to play by the kids nowadays.Those days are filled with pleasure and entertainment.
Competing with the Cuckoo's Coooo making it angry ! Walking on the walls, eating ripe mangoes, climbing on trees..waow ! It was fun :-)
A mischievous chat with Grandma, Grandpa and great Grandma who loved me more than they do themselves.
Making compulsory our afternoon nap, punishing us with his love and care, my Big uncle. He punishes us with his Hand fan or 50 - 100 sit ups holding our ears! But at this moment I realise he did that because he loves us a lot!
Craving to hear songs from the radio and singing along with it, writing it down and learning it by heart :-P
Going for movies with Grandma, it was really a great fun ! Ours was a Joint family system with uncles, aunts,cousins and there was love, understanding, sharing, caring for one another. Having breakfast, lunch and dinner together with the family where there were always laughter and only laughter :-)
Wish all those sweet and golden moments to come back !!!
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 1:48 AM UTC
Our mother nature,
You are not at all,
To punish the innocent man.
Yes, mother nature does that,
But you do it,
To satisfy your ego.
All your plans failed,
Not due to me,
But because of yourself.
Did you not make yourself,
Creep into dust,
Fearing honest work.
Planning endlessly,
Working never,
Just decorating dreams.
The little bird you plan,
Plan to go away,
Off to foreign lands.
But in the stark reality,
You are just a chicken,
Scared to work hard.
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 12:03 PM UTC
I met an old woman on Leander Avenue
who told me, “Don’t breathe or the earth
will swallow you whole.” I
stayed very still and didn’t move.
A butterfly could have landed on my nose
but I sneezed so I may never know for sure.
After that I remembered that my generation
doesn’t have to follow their elders, so I
walked to the corner store.
I bought three candy bars that I would
never eat and tied my shoelaces on the front porch.
My neighbor watches old films. He calls them
Lumières, and sometimes invites me over.
I watch the hand-cranked film flicker
black and white over his screen.
A troupe of acrobats flip about and wave
the French flag, large women kneel and scrub
endless linens in the still river, the gardener
punishes the mischeivious boy. I smile every time
they look at the camera.
The slats in the blinds yawn widely
and seeing them, the melatonin strikes.
Flowing, forcing, endocrinal.
The wind whispers Greek words in my ear.
Helios, zoetrope, khaos.
The trees outside of my window
spell out foreign letters.
They only make sense one at a time.
I can’t spell a word but I speak and
realize I can still make a sound.
I fall asleep.
I never wake but dream
of exquisite lavender pillows doused
in holy water from the lips of a
spouting statue. A Carnevale clown waves
at me in the corner and takes off mask after
mask. Confetti rains softly from his eyelashes and he
quietly laughs into his palm. I want to hold your
hand but remember that I am just
a raindrop streaking down your car
window in a mountain spring storm. I
open my eyes.
Jun 12, 2011
Jun 12, 2011 at 6:05 PM UTC
1) God divides people, Sachin unites them
2) God does with people what he fancies, Sachin does with the bat what people love
3) God gives life, Sachin adds meaning to it
4) God answers prayers, Sachin comes as the answer to those prayers
5) God takes away what he gives, Sachin only gives, gives and gives
6) God doesn’t always give you what you want, Sachin gives you more than what you expect
7) God gives you death, Sachin teaches you how to live
8) God blesses you only if you’re good, Sachin’s benevolence is unconditional
9) God gives you troubles to teach you lessons, Sachin makes you forget your troubles
10) God puts you to test to reassert his supremacy, Sachin keeps passing every Test and still remains humble
11) God punishes people for their wrongdoings, Sachin takes it upon himself to rectify others’ mistakes
12) God's existence is an unsolved mystery, Sachin’s existence is beyond any doubt
13) God loves you only if you believe in him, Sachin’s genius and goodness compels you to love him
14) No one has seen God, No one will ever see another like Sachin!!!
Mar 17, 2011
Mar 17, 2011 at 9:26 PM UTC
All my life I have kneeled down at your altar
Sacrificing my innocence and self worth
A lamb who's blood would gain me favor
"the Father, from whom are all things and for whom we exist"
Yes, I worshipped you like a God I was afraid of
Old Testament wrath brewed in our home
And I readied myself to **** what I loved
As Abraham would, as sheep do for their shepherds
For I knew my creator loved me, and called me love
"For he disciplines those he loves, and he punishes each one he accepts as his child. "
By the stripes inflicted upon me I would be freed
Of this shame and unworthiness you bestowed
But it turns out "Father" does not mean "God"
Sometimes it just means "alcoholic"
Sometimes discipline just means abuse
My faith is now placed in me, and the God that made us both.
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 11:20 PM UTC
(A throw-back piece, a breakup poem from high school)
What a lonely, peculiar, eccentric figure I must be. A girl, in a garden, crying at an iPad, in the dark.
Earlier, at school...
It was a clear spelling out, like steel cuts thru fruit.
As he spoke, he looked down and away, his gorgeous face blank and indifferent, as if I were wasting his time or he was talking to a child needing an obvious truth taught quickly.
When he finally looked back at me, I saw no pity in his impersonal, hazel eyes.
I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, I needed time to contemplate the universe's new laws.
Can a girl just suddenly die of heartache?? because I was sure my heart had stopped, locked and frozen.
Finally, I gasped in this impossible new air—the force of it made me hold the cold-iron stair railing—the game is rough.
He's so—male—all chase and careless passion—intelligent teaser, a skilled steersman of excited climates... Oh, you simply have no idea.
And now he was, gone—still there physically—but gone to me—as if he'd transformed into a hologram or had begun to orbit some other sun, he just...
"You made me feel special." I said.
I had lost my balance on this faithless and unequal world, where heaven so cruelly punishes desires.
"You made me feel I mattered, such a favor." I said, absentmindedly, as I turned, and went back up the three steps into school.
I don't think I looked back at him as the door closed. After all, he wasn't there anymore.
I think he called my name, like a question...
.
.
Song for this:
Still Is Still Moving to Me (with Willie Nelson) by ***** & The Maytals
Helpless by The Cleaners From Venus
Nov 11, 2024
Nov 11, 2024 at 10:25 AM UTC
The one thing that I can never have
Is the only thing I seem to want
Never can I eradicate it from my mind
The thought that will punish me
Do I try too hard to make them smile?
Do I try too hard to seem like I belong?
Is that all there is,
Am I too far gone?
The thought that punishes me
Is that I will never be good enough
I can’t change the judgmental ways of the world
The thought that punishes me
Is that I will never be what you need
I can’t change all of the imperfections in my life
Despite everything I am the owner of my mind
I control these thoughts of mine
I have such power over myself
I let that power slip through my fingers
I let it become tainted
Consumed by my self loathing
My thoughts are furious and vast
Yet no matter what my desires may be they disobey
Tenebrous corners of which I cannot escape surround me
Suffocate me
As I am caged in the cursed darkness of my brain
I reach out as far as I can manage
I reach out knowing that no one will see me drowning here
In the ocean of my mind
No one will grab onto me and save me
From these thoughts of mine which punish me
Im spinning out of control
Twirling and leaping further and further away
From everything that seems to say
“Let me save you”
I run as far as I can whilst screaming
“Please someone save me”
But such a selfish thought will only lead me further astray
These are the thoughts that punish me
A feeling
A sinking feeling
Hits me out of nowhere
Its painful, I can’t deny
Why do my thoughts invade
Corner me in my own mind?
I can’t escape this pain
Where can I run when the perpetrator
Is my own conscience?
Where can I hide when i’m my own worst enemy?
How can I find a moment alone from my fear
When I am constantly there to remind myself
How terrified I am?
This fear is a prison in my mind
The insecurities toss me into a cell
They call it a moment of self doubt
A wave of depression
I am trapped here
They tell me that it’s my own fault
My own doing, a hazard to myself
I cry out over and over again
This is not me
Yet they don’t hear me from within
The confounds of my cell
Within the prison of my mind
Like sudden rainfall on a sunny day
The happiness fades away
Like water inside a drain
These thoughts are torture
These thoughts are pain
These thoughts punish me
Day after day
These thoughts destroy me
These thoughts control me
These are the thoughts that punish me
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 1:39 AM UTC
A battle ground with limits not marked
full of strife , happiness but an occasional shower,
even if one tries to embellish it with
all of the fluff one can gather,
life is an enchanted land where we chase a myth,
that changes it's rules without any prior notice,
queer too, it punishes one with rewards, sometimes!
But at this moment I forget all that,
find no reason to harp on that, just forget
such lovely, clear blue eyes
eager to get lost in to mine!
even without batting an eyelid,
for a long while,is nothing but rapture, pure!
A moment, hand crafted by love, a magical spell,
spills over, makes one feel a superman in real world
so let's strive to create a dream boat, for blithe lovers
a raft of love to voyage across the ocean called life.
I'd collect such moments,immortal,pearl like, we gift to us
make a chain, to adorn you my queen, in your honor.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 5:10 AM UTC
The tears of an angel are emotions not a toy
A broken spirit, crippled wings of a Dove that can not fly
Romance bitter and sweet, but the heart deception can destroy
The Heart and Soul, weep and cry
Others have done their damage, broken again and again each wing
In time, with healing, again you'll fly and soar
You have to hold your head up, let my words to thy heart sing
Then maybe find the want, the desire to try, true emotions at the core
But for now the tears of an angel, solemn tears
In the dark in silence, continue to fall
She punishes her mind , heart and soul with doubts and fears
Wondering if love or a brief romance is even worth it at all
This sights and sounds, to comfort, taunt and torture
You don't know what is right or wrong
Heart and Soul on stormy emotions transfixed, is their a cure
My words, are they so distant and so unfamiliar a Song
Images of what can be, in the dreams dance, in the embrace
Throughout the day and way on into the night, fell the beat
Words a melody to kiss and dance in your heart and soul, a smile to your face
Warm is the embrace, ever so brief, bitter and sweet
'Tis plain to these eyes, such radiant beauty that rose standing alone
Through eyes, dwelling deep within, desperate for tending
Untended that rose yet has blossomed, who would have known?
What grand and greater beauty lays in wait, for a heart that needs mending
Full of promise, what dreams on flights of fancy and fantasy rises
When will that blossom of mystery unfold?
What dreams may come, oh what unfathomable surprises?
Lay hidden, what raw beauty and ecstasy to behold
Even the strongest and coldest of souls without a heart would cry
If you could see into her world, look there through her eyes
You could see the hurt she feels and maybe even know why
Tortured and almost barren the heart scarred by lies
~Wes Noneya
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 8:43 AM UTC
Time to distinguish the linguist from the clown,
the smile from the frown, the man from the town.
There's no way upward and no way downward,
just a longshortnarrowwidestraightwindinglightdark
path ahead. Dreams of tomorrow's epochal moments
spin me with dread. The lead of a bullet elsewhere
punishes bone as a kid somewhere else does a runner
from home, yet I sit here alone saying little doing less.
My memories are fragments, my best answer's a guess.
Is the world really more of a mess than it was yesterday?
I guess that depends on what you like to see.
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 4:01 PM UTC
climbing drown the rusty fire escape
from your mind into your heart
i see the chords
for a song
on the slide guitar
and crumpled papers
of all of the words you had
meant to deliver to me
you threw them away
because they had expired
i see the fibrous edges
of your hollow insides
fraying
from the words
your saintly mother
punishes you with
because
to improve ones self is to improve for God
but your heart
sprouted with new growth
on that warm spring day
and as we sat behind the wall
overlooking our hometown
we rolled in shells and twigs and grass
and acted like dogs
and in the pale yellow sunlight
i finally saw your heart smile
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 3:16 PM UTC
There's a monster that lives inside of me.
Crawling, itching, aching under my skin.
It controls me. It haunts me. And it will never leave.
I'm left in the dark, alone, drowning.
It's holding me down to keep me weak.
People tell me to be strong but the monster gets mad when i fight back, it punishes me.
I'd cry for help but i cant, trust me I would if I could.
All I can manage to do if get mad,
blame others for my monster.
But there is no one to blame but me.
I'm the one that is afraid of myself.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 5:22 PM UTC
*I am friends with the Midnight Man
Yes I am friends with he
He holds me tight
When the moon is lost in the dark of him
And soothe my pain with petty lies of death*
*I am friends with the Midnight Man
But I never asked for he
He chocks my throat
When I wish to the sandman of dreams
And punishes me with truth reaking of death*
*I am friends with the Midnight Man
Yes...
I'm compelled to be friends with he...*
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 6:26 PM UTC