"symptom" poems
It happened in the dead of night while I was slicing bread for a guilty snack.
My attention was caught by the scuttering of a raccoon outside my window.
That was, I believe, the first time I noticed my strange tendencies as an unusual
human.
I gave the raccoon a piece of bread, my subconscious well aware of the consequences.
Well aware that a raccoon that is fed will always come back for more.
The enticing beauty of my cutting knife was the symptom.
The bread, my hungry curiosity.
The raccoon, an urge.
The moon increments its phase and reflects that much more light off of my cutting
knife.
The very same light that glistens in the eyes of my raccoon friend.
I slice the bread, fresh and soft. The raccoon becomes excited.
or perhaps I'm merely projecting my emotions onto the newly-satisfied animal.
The raccoon has taken to following me.
You could say that we've gotten quite used to each other.
The raccoon becomes hungry more and more frequently, so my bread is always handy.
Every time I brandish my cutting knife the raccoon shows me its excitement.
A rush of blood. Classic Pavlovian conditioning. I slice the bread.
And I feed myself again.
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 5:44 PM UTC
Reinaldo was the name they gave the great white elephant
Who came to clear the jungles around Sao Paulo
A clever notion that because Reinaldo was born in the jungle
Any jungle would do just fine, Brazilian or Siamese made no difference
Just as clever was the notion that because I was a black man, educated
I would do just fine directing other black men to do work, English or Portuguese made no difference
Was I truly so much a fool, twice over?
Reinaldo occasionally was afflicted with slothfulness
Some of the men thought it was from lack of **** and whip
I was of a mind that it was due to lack of companionship
It was costly enough to ship one giant beast across a great sea
I left a wife, in Maryland, whom I never loved and who never loved me
I admit before the plan was in motion I never considered that Reinaldo could have a family
Sometimes, I wonder, did he have a wife who never loved him?
Loneliness became a common theme in our new home away from home
And Reinaldo and I became friends, at least I thought of him fondly
As far as I could say, of all the men he responded best to me
At times it seemed a load of lumber was hauled as a personal favor
For the handler too soft to handle with fear and anger
But as much as loneliness was a theme, so was change, and death
The lifespan of an elephant compares to the lifespan of men
Were this scheme of mine to have worked as desired
I could have sent for a cow, and made Reinaldo a sire
Soon it was revealed that slothfulness was a symptom of an elephant young, healthy and wise
Who sensed not his own, but a friend's imminent demise
Now I am left to wonder how Reinaldo will fare in a world stranger than I could have known
His softest handler and only friend bedridden, waiting for my disease to take its final toll
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 6:28 PM UTC
“Robin Williams didn’t die from suicide. I only just heard the sad, sad news of Robin Williams’s death. My wife sent me a message to tell me he had died, and, when I asked her what he died from, she told me something that nobody in the news seems to be talking about.
When people die from cancer, their cause of death can be various horrible things – seizure, stroke, pneumonia – and when someone dies after battling cancer, and people ask “How did they die?”, you never hear anyone say “pulmonary embolism”, the answer is always “cancer”. A Pulmonary Embolism can be the final cause of death with some cancers, but when a friend of mine died from cancer, he died from cancer. That was it. And when I asked my wife what Robin Williams died from, she, very wisely, replied “Depression”.
The word “suicide” gives many people the impression that “it was his own decision,” or “he chose to die, whereas most people with cancer fight to live.” And, because Depression is still such a misunderstood condition, you can hardly blame people for not really understanding. Just a quick search on Twitter will show how many people have little sympathy for those who commit suicide…
But, just as a Pulmonary Embolism is a fatal symptom of cancer, suicide is a fatal symptom of Depression. Depression is an illness, not a choice of lifestyle. You can’t just “cheer up” with depression, just as you can’t choose not to have cancer. When someone commits suicide as a result of Depression, they die from Depression – an illness that kills millions each year. It is hard to know exactly how many people actually die from Depression each year because the figures and statistics only seem to show how many people die from “suicide” each year (and you don’t necessarily have to suffer Depression to commit suicide, it’s usually just implied). But considering that one person commits suicide every 14 minutes in the US alone, we clearly need to do more to battle this illness, and the stigmas that continue to surround it. Perhaps Depression might lose some its “it was his own fault” stigma, if we start focussing on the illness, rather than the symptom. Robin Williams didn’t die from suicide. He died from Depression*. It wasn’t his choice to suffer that.”
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
She’s the girl who you'd always run back to,
You’re the boy I’d always run back to.
She’s the girl who gave you the chills with her beauty,
You give me the chills with yours.
It’s funny how times change,
People you once loved now become strangers.
But- she’s a parasite,
Always latching onto you and taking what she can.
A symptom of a parasite is disturbed sleep,
She disturbs my sleep.
When I close my eyes I see her eyes,
Staring into yours.
One cure for a parasite is coconut oil,
But no oil or remedy will remove her.
The thought of her makes me aggravated,
Intimidated because really I’m giving her what she wants- you.
I’d like to say everything was fine until she came along,
However, she was always there.
We are smooth like foundation,
Then she comes along, our plates collide and the bumps in the road grow.
Now, I’m not one to gamble,
But I bet you’re talking to her right now.
Sorry I mean, I bet she’s talking to you,
Because we both know she can’t get enough.
I know you feel bad for her and I know you love me,
But why do you feel the need to type to x’s and give her promises I’ll make sure you won’t keep.
See, bless her, she’s having trouble moving on,
Clearly she loved you more than you loved her because you turned a page and started writing a new song.
The girl doesn’t threaten me,
I know we make each other feel new.
The only thing that makes me hurt,
Is how you aren’t letting her get over you.
You compliment, flirt and put kisses,
Just so she stays tame.
But to her you compliment, flirt and put kisses,
Because you clearly want her again.
She’s the girl who you'd always run back to,
You’re the boy I’d always run back to.
She’s the girl who gave you the chills with her beauty,
You give me the chills with yours.
One cure for a parasite is coconut oil,
You know her a lot better than me.
Maybe she’s allergic to coconuts…
Maybe.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 4:27 AM UTC
Children are walking in flour again,
though these grains are the symptoms
and the symptom is pain.
Resting upon donated metal table,
this child is lifeless with only a label
around his ankle for identification.
Part time doctors and full time others
walk and pace and cry and panic around the mother,
lifeless, with a document for identification.
This is malaria.
This is infant death.
This is an epidemic of hysteria.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC
1681
Speech is one symptom of Affection
And Silence one—
The perfectest communication
Is heard of none—
Exists and its indorsement
Is had within—
Behold, said the Apostle,
Yet had not seen!
5.1k
You awaken in the cardboard box
That you refer to as your home
The dawn is barely breaking
And already you feel alone
A ****** bath in a public restroom
Then you’re ready to start your day
Layers of stage makeup hide the wounds
Of the lead in this lack of morality play
First up is the sadistic businessman
He knows the drugs you need
But it comes with one condition
That he gets to see you bleed
With his one hand around your throat
And the other grabbing your breast
He takes whatever looks good
And leaves you with the rest
You straighten out your dress
And try to wipe yourself clean
You’re helped back to your feet
By a schoolboy of age seventeen
He's skipped his classes for the day
And borrowed his mother's van
Now he’ll gladly pay your fee
If you'll make him into a man
It’s all over before it begins
A symptom he can't control
You can barely feel it anyway
Numb in both body and soul
At night you meet your ****
And give the devil his due
You willingly submit to him
As he runs you through
You retreat to the cardboard box
That you refer to as your home
The moon is heavy in the sky
And you can finally be alone
Your lips wrap around the pipe
The smoke molests your lungs
And slowly you begin to forget
The world that you came from
You once dreamt of a white knight
That would come and take you away
Now seen as only vestiges
Of a young girl’s naiveté
Dignity is a memory
An illusion from your past
Like pleasure or happiness
A feeling you could never grasp
You once thought you’d hit rock bottom
But there was so much further left to fall
You were filled with unknown fears
But now you’ve named them all
Add up the rocks they pay
As you break their last taboo
And the secrets that they share
When they’re deep inside of you
A normal person would go insane
But your body is no longer yours
Are you less than human now?
One of a thousand nameless ******
You wonder if they see a woman
Or just another object on her knees
You could show them who you really are
But that’s not what they pay you to be
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 5:08 PM UTC
symbol cymbals
synthesize size
symphony nymphs
syzygy gypsy
sympathy thesaurus
synonym nimble
symptom tomato
syrup up
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC
because we fell in love with the law
and fell out of love with ourselves.
because the ***** of great minds
wear pineapple fatigues in their fathers’ *******
from Judas swallowing 9 bullets
to one day being a kid at heart
a symptom of some abnormality.
Ever get the feeling that you’ll die on a Tuesday?
Or one day wake up on their government bed
Screaming,
“you can blame the French Revolution
On silent reading!”
watching
as three teacups of *** plan war on the asphalt.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 5:59 PM UTC
You know that I want you. I'm sure of it.
But still the little tortures come.
Your cheshire smile glowing brightly.
Your hand holding mine to your side.
Your unbridled compliments and playful digs
Each with their subtle symptom of love.
But you don't love me. You just love being loved.
And I'm tired of writing poems about you
And screaming to the heavens that I am yours.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
I get this feeling,
It sinks through my spine.
Sits in my bones.
Like an unwanted guest,
And I, the unwilling host.
The intruder finds its way to my feet.
Making my toes curl,
And tap.
Restlessly twitching,
As if ready to run.
But I'm not ready for anything.
My hands do the same.
Hard to hold anything,
With this earthquake
Terrorizing my body.
Cold and uneasy,
They cling to each other.
Is it just a chemical,
Artificial affliction?
Or a symptom,
Of all lost direction?
Where do I put
All this misplaced disruption?
Now find the pieces,
Paint the picture.
Find some reason
In this sloppy meter.
My understated explanation.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 8:39 PM UTC
Feelings are funny things
I used think feelings were the sweet feelings you felt when you were very young
When you were little
(Before the emptiness came)
These were what feelings were... to me.
So it used to baffle me when I got older
After I'd gone through some traumas of my own in life
And suddenly I found much to my dismay
That I no longer felt anything inside myself anymore
Only an emptiness, a numbness, a nothingness... a void
Those lovely early feelings had now all gone
I knew...I knew there was something wrong
But then I'd hear some people say
"Oh, I feel this way or I feel that way... I feel happy, I feel sad, I feel...
And I'd think to myself What! you still feel something inside yourself
Y'know Me! I don't feel anything anymore
All my old feelings that made me who I was they've all gone
And I have no idea how to get them back again.
But then I'd think
Y'know when you say you feel...say you feel lonely or depressed or calm and confident
Overwhelmed or in control... whatever!
all these different emotions/ so called feelings
But these aren't.... these aren't the real feelings are they
Not like the feelings you had when you were a little child
Their just... aren't they just words describing mental states where/how you find yourself during the day
You feel sad probably because you're thinking sad thoughts
Or you feel happy because you're thinking happy thoughts
But sure I could do that
Yea! I could say well I feel... I feel hungry
Or I feel a bit apprehensive about something that's coming up
Or maybe I feel excited because I'm going out to a show somewhere
But these... these aren't the real feelings are they though
Not the lovely sweet feelings you had as a little child
No! Their not the same.
Y'know when a child comes into the world they start as a clean slate
They have no words at all to begin with
Yet even then they have these incredible sweet feelings inside that make them feel so happy and so special
It makes them feel like they own the whole world
Maybe... maybe their a symptom of the Divine. I...I don't know.
And I'd say this to someone sometimes and it's like they'd look at me kind of strangely
As if to say "What do you mean... when you say... the real feelings!
Aug 25, 2022
Aug 25, 2022 at 12:02 PM UTC
just now my heart gave two great
and heaving beats
that shuddered my whole chest.
i know this is just a symptom
of the cardiac quirk i inherited from my mother
but it felt to me like some sort of physical closure.
for a moment after it happened
my chest didn't have that emptiness anymore.
my body is healing my nonbody.
that's what it felt like.
for a second, anyway.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 11:03 PM UTC
After running some tests
Injecting needles in your veins
******* blood from you even if it's the only ounce left
He says you're sick
Holding a pen, he prescripts
It's for you to buy, a list of medicines
And so you have to try
You have no choice but to buy
Or else, as per Dr. Quack Quack, you'll die
As you take in
Your wallet's thinning
While the packets of medicines are still stacking
Then another symptom came
And so you have to visit the clinic again
Déjà vu you thought, Dr. Quack Quack greeted you smiling
He says you're sick again
Holding a pen, he prescripts again
It's for you to buy again, a list of medicines
Oblivious to you
He's preparing his checklist too
After traveling to Europe, next stop to Honolulu
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 11:27 PM UTC
People say they want to try
to fix the World's problems,
yet few do more than simply imply
that the Symptoms are the problem;
We need to stop simply treating Symptoms
and begin again to seek the Source;
only then can we begin to progress
and begin again to Harmonize.
But they don't really want that;
you see, they like the World's problems:
Perhaps they see it as Vindication
for propagating their vitriolic Dogmas.
Perhaps they seek to seize control
of Earth and her Inhabitants,
or perhaps they seek to establish
lucrative business contracts.
In any case, it seems to me to be the case
that they'd have stopped some problems, just in case;
that is, if the case was that they truly and earnestly sought to:
The World's Problems ensure future Business
for the Military-Industrial Complex.
The World's Problems enure future Business
for the Pharmaceutical-Industrial Complex.
The World's Problems ensure future Business
for the Disedification-Industrial Complex.
The World's Problems ensure future Business
for Banks, Demagogues, Tyrants, Corporations and Thieves
(sometimes all are one in the same!)
-
We need to stop dwelling upon the Symptoms
and do something about the ******* Source;
It's about time we, as Humans, stood up to this; our Wretched System,
for precisely the same ideals it so facetiously claims:
Justice, Equality,
Freedom, Liberty,
Tranquility, Solidarity,
Opportunity, Prosperity;
We have strayed.
We have been betrayed.
We are being played:
We should be ******* irate.
Irate, and yet Calm.
Non-violent, yet resisting:
Civil Disobedience is a Virtue
in a World such as This.
Civil Disobedience is a Symptom
of a World such as This.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 10:01 PM UTC
Teasing the beast
Looking for a feast
Hounds barking at our ears
Vultures flying up ahead
Circling a bald eagle's fresh corpse
Compartmentalizing symptom after symptom
To hide the great systematic sickness
Labeling the suffering, outcome from desire
We, wholeheartedly accepting being
Appropriated, labeled, discarded
As construing our own oppression and sadness
Enduring the **** of our minds
Being castrated of our consciousness
Before we reap the products
Of its bold liberation and grandness
Its the belly of the beast
And its hungry
Insatiable, amoral entrails
Hoping to salvage a feast
From the casualties of d(e)moc(ratic) wars
Hoping we feed our monstrous fear
Thirsting for the greed
Dripping off of accumulating wealths
Impatiently waiting, we keep parceling out grudges
Disfiguring our minds, our souls, and our bodies
Its misanthropic nature lashes out without conscience
Knowing we'll never realize we are masses
Disappearing the individuals who realize their suffering
Ensuring there's no collective opposition or action
Trying to reassure we are weak
Knowing at some point or another
We all act mute, deaf, and blind when anyone experiences:
Oppression
Pain
Silencing
****
Hunger
Fear
Violence
Repression
Retaliation
Discrimination
Torture
Negation
Alienation
All forms of mental, psychological, physical, and spiritual mutilation
Fearing death more than fighting for necessary abolishment
Preferring to live out our veiled miseries
Endorsing their continuance
Instead of risking our lives for everyone's liberation
Always ensuring the feast of the beast
By its very efforts trying to decree our very human nature
Ingraining greed, fear, animosity, and weakness as if inherent of us
All parts of its most damaging weapon: the seed of discord
Its implantation, a socialized deep desire for self-preservation
Sheep bleating painfully toward our ears
Vultures flying up ahead
Circling a bald eagle's fresh corpse
Signifying the impending recapturing
Of our true transformative desires
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
"I love food too much to be anorexic.
Thats the thing,
Anorexics love food.
But with anorexia,
Food is no longer,
Texture,
Smell,
Warmth,
Energy,
Taste.
Food becomes numbers,
Calories,
1000.
800.
600.
200.
Until Calories,
Become chemicals.
Sugar Free Jelly,
Pepsi Max,
Low fat ice-cream.
...
NOTHING.
Anorexia is not about a love,
It is about a hate.
An over-whelming hatred.
For your body,
For your faults,
For yourself.
Starving is merely a symptom.
Too many work out sessions is merely a symptom.
Your thoughts are a poison.
Not your acts."
My name is Athena Grace and I have battle anorexia for 4 years.
I am 16 years old.
At the age of 12 years old my idea of beauty was constructed into something toxic.
On my 12th birthday I was 5'2 and a beautiful 134 pounds.
On my 13th birthday I was 5'3 1/2 and a sliming 112 pounds.
On my 14th birthday I was 5'5 and a stick thin 100 pounds.
On my 15th birthday I was in the hospital. I was 5'5 1/2 and 89 pounds.
On my 16th birthday I was 5'6 and 118 pounds.
I am halfway to my 17th birthday and I am 5'7 feet tall and 105 pounds.
I was getting bad again.
I refuse to get bad again.
I am my own savior, and that is what I have learned.
I will recover.
I will never look at food like you do, but that is okay.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 10:22 AM UTC
My lips hold back the lava in my chest.
The burning, consuming, encroaching destruction is hardening my resolve more than you could have guessed.
I feel so at home in the flames that water is so underwhelming.
It’s the coals I sleep on through everything.
To look so long at the light only to blind myself each time;
You’d think I’d learn my lesson after each rhyme.
I’ve never felt comfort for long enough to recall.
The videos of me laughing are something that now make me bawl.
I don’t know how that feels anymore.
I don’t remember what you sound like or the color of your front door.
Your voice no longer echoes in my head.
Your face no longer plagues me in bed.
I don’t know you outside of memories;
Moments of my time that bite like fleas.
You make me itch still,
A symptom that which the spot can never refill.
I’ve been battling between anger and grief for so long now.
It’s a why; it’s a how.
It’s a feeling I can’t live without.
No matter how hard I try to erase the pressure or smother the intensity, the kindling always relights in this drought.
With a deep breath in, releasing all the smoke back out.
It’s my meditation now.
It’s my medication now.
To smell it on someone else and be engrossed in the poison that this can allow;
My dear, that’s intoxicating for me lately.
A mass we are swallowing with the passing moment cornering us innately.
I don’t partake with my own vessel but I will consume a host so absorbed.
They don’t see me molding my character every time I get bored.
One day I will have the entire puzzle lined up together.
Each piece fitted so perfectly, completely combined in a tether.
They will compose a tale so broken and numb.
That’s the feeling that fills my ****** drum.
Every tear is a bad dream.
Every eyelash is a wish for this story to have a different theme.
Jul 7, 2022
Jul 7, 2022 at 2:02 AM UTC
1202
The Frost was never seen—
If met, too rapid passed,
Or in too unsubstantial Team—
The Flowers notice first
A Stranger hovering round
A Symptom of alarm
In Villages remotely set
But search effaces him
Till some retrieveless Night
Our Vigilance at waste
The Garden gets the only shot
That never could be traced.
Unproved is much we know—
Unknown the worst we fear—
Of Strangers is the Earth the Inn
Of Secrets is the Air—
To analyze perhaps
A Philip would prefer
But Labor vaster than myself
I find it to infer.
3.3k
Anxiety quelled by more medication
and an anxiety class where I learn
it is all about fight, flight, freeze and saber tooth tigers
and every symptom can be explained scientifically and
tabulated and put on a balance sheet where insignificant
experimental mortals like me can put check marks
in little boxes and the totality of my existence
can then be clearly defined and understood by someone
wearing a plastic name card around her neck announcing PhD.
The room has no windows, only a hand written poster
from an AA meeting and stale air and three anxious women
out of the ten people who are supposed to be here.
No one knows, but I am in boot camp inside my head
It is the mindfulness of anxiety
anxious thoughts, thoughts of you are to be
immediately exterminated
Perhaps the hand sanitizer that is available at every corner
in this place will help
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 1:05 PM UTC
I hope you will tell me
I cannot know your secrets without your words
I hope you will tell me
Tell me please your thoughts of suicide
You might feel scared to tell me
When I ask you if you are thinking of suicide
I will try to help you feel safe
I will not judge you
I will not interrogate you
I will not panic
I will listen gently as you tell your story
In your own words in your own way
Suicide might tell you not to
Suicide might tell you I am your enemy
Suicide lies
Suicide might tell you that nobody could possibly help you
That dying is the only way to end your pain
Suicide might tell you that you are a bad person
Defective, undeserving of life
Or love or hope of compassion
Please tell me
I cannot help you fight the enemy
If you do not tell me about the enemy
The enemy that is trying to **** you
Do not trust suicide
They are not rational
They are a symptom a sign a cry for inside
Something inside you needs healing
Healing not killing
Tell me please what suicide tells you
Does it tell you everything is wrong with you
Suicide plays tricks with truth
Hiding the truths that make you want to live
The pieces of hope
The pathways to healing
The possible
Tell me, please
Tell somebody
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 12:53 PM UTC
Trophies for last place,
And a Holiday for every weekend.
A taste of this and that...
OF Italy and Ireland and Asia and Germany
and every township in the county,
and 3 collective Miles of
Portable Toilets,
Strategically Positioned
throughout each event.
cause there is going to be a Lot of ****
Hooray for whatever we are celebrating this weekend.
Whichever one of the 30 different Woodstocks
Or week long Music Festivals
That exist only so
the Hippest of Hipsters
can congratulate each other
on how Indie they are.
Ya know, it's happy hour somewhere...
Why not party
All Day, Everyday?
Devalue the weekend
Like we have thanksgiving
And New Years.
A Five Kay For the Common Cold,
And We'll even give trophies for last place.
Cause we're all winners here.
and we're all hungry.
And What represents your heritage better than
Pizza or sauerkraut or General Tso's
And endless flowing barrels of refreshing, Ice cold, Domestically brewed and Nationally brand recognized Alcoholic Beverages?
IT's The Great Dumb Down, Charlie Brown!!!
A symptom of the Universe
If there ever was one.
Mass anesthesia to keep us all content
With our collective mediocrities,
our Forfeit Potential,
Our Day Job that doesn't pay very well,
But kind has benefits.
So we stay on.
In fear of nothing better.
It makes feel important.
Like Wheel of Fortune makes us feel smart.
(Wow, you can spell?!)...
Dwindling returns in a world of Beige and Pastels
And the Muted Grays of limestone concrete.
We Accept less and we Get less and we accept less and we Get less
And On And on and on,
till we hit that lowest common cultural denominator,
where your race is what food you eat,
And we all qualify for the special Olympics.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 9:52 AM UTC
Love is like a disease it spreads.
Hatred is an itch when you keep
Scratching it. It Fester an kills you.
When i think about the things I've said.
Feelings I felt. I melt inside.
It turns my in sides out.
My heart combust
An I hate myself.
Why are I not enough.
Denial will have you walk for miles.
Sorrow is a sweet after taste of a sucker punch of truth.
Loneliness is only a symptom.
An that to will pass.
I am a enigma of feeling. I cry when the rain falls to hard. When the wind blows in the wrong directions. I'm poetic. I'm also a stepping stone. The men I've let erase my soul an rewrite my blueprint. The salty tears I cry are almost symbiotic. Another symptom. Like a sonnet short an sweet. Running in a circle walking a fine line. Waiting to leap. Is it a crime to work 9 to 9. Roller coaster emotinal train wreck. An I think to myself who will love me.
I bare myself to the pit an it asks me if I'll jump. I reply not today. Slumped down I step closer to the edge. I reenact self destructive behaviors daily. Am I considered an addict. I seek validation from namless phantoms. I named them my self conscious. Are you listening my beating heart gets louder. I order cream an chowder. Sips slow on estacy. Love an lust sleep next to me. I'm smothered in one while I'm blocked to the other. Exits are closed off I think where is my mother. I shudder remembering I'm alone.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 7:59 AM UTC
Standing by the shallow waters I stare
Sun is shining but no shadow is visible
The other side has something unknow
But I feel too weak to sail my boat..
What I might find I am not aware
The first push I give is crucial
The Mast is broken,wind sail is torn
As I felt a spear down my throat..
Cross these waters before the thunders
But why am I afraid of them now?
Let the wind sail the ship home
Take me to the place unknown..
Random things at random times
Is a symptom. We have to adapt
Weak heart has an ego to be killed
Mosaic minds have to be willed...
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 4:47 PM UTC