"unutterable" poems
I see around me tombstones grey
Stretching their shadows far away.
Beneath the turf my footsteps tread
Lie low and lone the silent dead -
Beneath the turf - beneath the mould -
Forever dark, forever cold -
And my eyes cannot hold the tears
That memory hoards from vanished years
For Time and Death and Mortal pain
Give wounds that will not heal again -
Let me remember half the woe
I've seen and heard and felt below,
And Heaven itself - so pure and blest,
Could never give my spirit rest -
Sweet land of light! thy children fair
Know nought akin to our despair -
Nor have they felt, nor can they tell
What tenants haunt each mortal cell,
What gloomy guests we hold within -
Torments and madness, tears and sin!
Well - may they live in ectasy
Their long eternity of joy;
At least we would not bring them down
With us to weep, with us to groan,
No - Earth would wish no other sphere
To taste her cup of sufferings drear;
She turns from Heaven with a careless eye
And only mourns that we must die!
Ah mother, what shall comfort thee
In all this boundless misery?
To cheer our eager eyes a while
We see thee smile; how fondly smile!
But who reads not through that tender glow
Thy deep, unutterable woe:
Indeed no dazzling land above
Can cheat thee of thy children's love.
We all, in life's departing shine,
Our last dear longings blend with thine;
And struggle still and strive to trace
With clouded gaze, thy darling face.
We would not leave our native home
For any world beyond the Tomb.
No - rather on thy kindly breast
Let us be laid in lasting rest;
Or waken but to share with thee
A mutual immortality -
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Erstwhile, i cared for none
But now i have a promise
To the Lord that i can be
As worthy as a servant should be
The earth is my battlefield
Amid in the evil, wearily i stand
A relentless battle to survive
Trying hard to stay alive.
Each day I'm faced with opponent
In an arena crowded with temptation.
Masters of the dark distort my spirit,
In their deadly game, i am but a pawn.
So weak, i tremble with fear.
This unutterable battle, i am bound to lose.
Lord, send forth thy holy warrior
And save me O Lord, make haste.
He knows my every weakness.
My weakness his console,
But, Lord have mercy on me
For you said "My power works best in weakness."
Permit me as your lowly servant if i deserve,
And send me forth to justify the truth.
Nurture me under Your grace
And i will build in You a strong faith.
As a roaring lion he may come,
But i will stand still and never move.
For i have faith in You Lord
I will rejoice and forever be glad.
Lord, make me wise
That i may know his cunning ways,
Make a shield around me
And wrap me in Your loving arms.
I will watch and pray
Lest i get weary,
I have a life to sacrifice,
A heart to give.
Lord, have patience with me
"O Lord, do not rebuke me in your anger,
Nor chasten me in Your hot displeasure."
For i am but dust and You are my saviour.
I will prove to be your worthy servant,
I will honor Your grace and love,
Till the day i hear the trumpet,
In that day, i will greatly rejoice. AMEN..
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 8:08 PM UTC
I
How should I seek to make a song for thee
When all my music is to moan thy name?
That long sad monotone - the same - the same -
Matching the mute insatiable sea
That throbs with life's bewitching agony,
Too long to measure and too fierce to tame!
An hurtful joy, a fascinating shame
Is this great ache that grips the heart of me.
Even as a cancer, so this passion gnaws
Away my soul, and will not ease its jaws
Till I am dead. Then let me die! Who knows
But that this corpse committed to the earth
May be the occasion of some happier birth?
Spring's earliest snowdrop? Summer's latest rose?
II
Thou knowest what asp hath fixed its lethal tooth
In the white breast that trembled like a flower
At thy name whispered. thou hast marked how hour
By hour its poison hath dissolved my youth,
Half skilled to agonise, half skilled to soothe
This passion ineluctable, this power
Slave to its single end, to storm the tower
That holdeth thee, who art Authentic Truth.
O golden hawk! O lidless eye! Behold
How the grey creeps upon the shuddering gold!
Still I will strive! That thou mayst sweep
Swift on the dead from thine all-seeing steep -
And the unutterable word by spoken.
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You
Are untamed
Reckless blood and wit intertwined
A twisted, brazen
mind.
Your mind
Is so clearly different
It leaps and soars, so acrobatic
And your thoughts appear to me so hazy and enigmatic
Your mind is simply not pragmatic
Yet your perception knows no bounds.
You have thoughts that come close to insanity
That sometimes flow in the form of profanity.
Your spirit
Is either very high or very low
Up and down, to and fro
There is no in between for you
Some say you are stupidly crazy
The dull ones say that, the ones too lazy
To see beyond the rugged surface.
The subdued and vapid ones
Will never understand the magnetism
Of your sweet, exquisite devilry.
On your face you often wear
A fierce and restless stare
A wan, discontented expression
As though you're always awaiting
Something bigger,
Something better.
You
Are fluid, swaying fire
And I will never tire
Of watching you burn
I can see you brain boil and churn
As it reels into into areas of
madness and chaos.
Your psyche
Is an endless field of dark reverie,
Of fear and vagary.
I know your night terrors
Your savage dreams of death
Screams and bated breath
Unutterable visions
The grotesque world of horror thats spins itself out
And dribbles into your drawings
All those creatures, skeletons gnashing and clawing...
You
Are gentle and thoughtful
Yet you are terrified
Of this dark thing that sleeps within you.
Your eyes - they’re stunning
They’re tempestuous,
Wild, like some fierce animal peering out of a rusted cage
Oh, your eyes
They are something beautiful, but annihilating
Like Autumn crocus flowers, innocently poisonous
Lids splaying delicately like its violet leaves.
You are tall and strong
And uncontrollable,
And your smile
Is the biggest paradox I've ever encountered
Childlike
And fatal.
You are not
A creature of the commonplace
You are not a slave of the ordinary
You are not a mindless drudge of the mundane
You are free.
Or bewitched, what's the difference
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 5:21 PM UTC
How many million galaxies there are
Who knows? and each has countless stars in it,
And each rolls through eternities afar
Beneath the threshold of the Infinite.
How is it that will all that space to roam
I should have found this mote that spins and leaps
In what unutterable sunlight, foam
Of what unfathomable starry deeps
Who knows!? And how this thousand million souls
And half a thousand million souls of earth
That swarm, all bound for unimagined goals,
All pioneers of death enrolled at birth,
How were they swept away before my sight,
That I might stand upon the single *****
Of infinite space and time as infinite,
Who knows? Yet here I stand, climacteric,
Having found you. Was it by fall of chance?
Then what a stake against what odds I have won!
Was it determined in God's ordinance?
Then wondrous love and pity for His son!
Or was it part of an eternal law?
Then how ineffably beneficent!
Each thought excites an ecstasy of awe,
A rapture rending the mind's firmament.
Infinity -yet you and I have met.
Eternity -yet hand in hand we run.
All odds that I should lose you or forget,
But, soul and spirit and body, we are one.
Is this the child of Chance, or Law, or Will?
Is None or All or One to thank for this?
It will not matter if thanksgiving fill
The endless empyrean with a kiss.
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~ " ~
through this twilight universe
where poor ghosts, breathing dreams
like air wander
they walked along the moon-lit gravel
into a bright rosy colored space
boats against the current
frightened but graceful, on the edge of
a deathless song
a stir and bustle among the stars
as she blossomed for him like a flower
pervading the air with shades and echoes of
still vibrant emotions
against the blue cool limit of the sky
he forever wed his unutterable visions
to her perishable breath
and so they drove on toward death through
the cooling twilight
~ " ~
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 5:46 PM UTC
For eons untold I have watched you rise and fall. Build empires and break them. Cure diseases and be ailed by them. I have watched you commune in many religious ways… watched you slaughter for your faith. Now that the darkness has dawned, finally I have come, soaring towards you.
As the farmer brings his harvest home, the librarian pores over long forgotten a tome, whilst the piper flutes a final tone. Echoes from my insides a most peculiar and maddening drone.
Too long soils you have stained with blood, bygone your time of breeding. Your cancerous race, your viral existence… Put out of its misery soon enough.
I soar, adorned in shrouds of doom and gloom, my wings blowing frigid winds and blotting out the moon. Unseen horror, hidden in the darkest nooks of your feeble minds. The stalking predator that lurks near the sheep pen. Crypt born from the graven mounds of a long stained and rotten memory. Ancient pillars carved for me, worshiping us.
No atonement can there be for the existence of human sin. Only to rend and tear your fleshy vessels. In a nuclear chaos confounded to the self-made oblivion, the blindfold to not see, the unutterable horror that is me…
Flee…
If it makes you feel safe and sanctified. You will feel my leering gaze and gaping maw wherever you may hide. Sleep will creep upon you somehow.
Like in times of old, there are some stories they left untold. To prevent further damnation and total extinction, the worship of the gods of all creation. Floating in a sea most nebulous, blackened and foul, adrift outside of the play garden of time and space, there live things without a face.
The piping of mad flutes a harbinger of my coming, a blazing star to wipe the slate clean. Not even a faint echo will remain.
Go out while you can… Walk hand in hand into extinction as brothers and sister, opting out of a raw deal. The last midnight for the human race…
A cancerous vile growth that only thrives for our amusement…
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 7:52 PM UTC
"Sweet, thou art pale."
"More pale to see,
Christ hung upon the cruel tree
And bore His Father's wrath for me."
"Sweet, thou art sad."
"Beneath a rod
More heavy, Christ for my sake trod
The winepress of the wrath of God."
"Sweet, thou art weary."
"Not so Christ:
Whose mighty love of me suffic'd
For Strength, Salvation, Eucharist."
"Sweet, thou art footsore."
"If I bleed,
His feet have bled; yea in my need
His Heart once bled for mine indeed."
"Sweet, thou art young."
"So He was young
Who for my sake in silence hung
Upon the Cross with Passion wrung."
"Look, thou art fair."
"He was more fair
Than men, Who deign'd for me to wear
A visage marr'd beyond compare."
"And thou hast riches."
"Daily bread:
All else is His: Who, living, dead,
For me lack'd where to lay His Head."
"And life is sweet."
"It was not so
To Him, Whose Cup did overflow
With mine unutterable woe."
"Thou drinkest deep."
"When Christ would sup.
He drain'd the dregs from out my cup:
So how should I be lifted up?"
"Thou shalt win Glory."
"In the skies,
Lord Jesus, cover up mine eyes
Lest they should look on vanities."
"Thou shalt have Knowledge."
"Helpless dust!
In . Thee, O Lord, I put my trust:
Answer Thou for me, Wise and Just."
"And Might."--
"Get thee behind me. Lord,
Who hast redeem'd and not abhorr'd
My soul, oh keep it by Thy Word."
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Despair is an old company
In lighter days he’s the shadow overcasting every object
In darker days he’s the strongest
Strangling and suffocating
Clouding all reasons for treason
Was he born with me,
I always think he lived this world long before I did
How he found me how I wish he never did
Despair is an old felony
He lived longer than any of us, and he will live longer than any of us
To love him is unutterable
But to let him linger or to let him pass for another time
That might be a way
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 12:58 AM UTC
I wish I did not love you're aphrodisiac smiles;
'cause here I am now, always out of my mind:
you've invaded my heart with all these crazy things,
it might be, you're the first one who switched
this heart on again.
I wish I haven't seen you for those one happiness,
'cause I don't know when to start walking to these paces:
I wish I never listened to your sweetest voice,
I'm confused; never knew what have brought me
upon this choice.
I'm going in circles, turning round and round
and always drifting whenever you are around:
I wish I haven't talked to you since the first time,
it might be, you're the first one to be there
next to mine.
You're so beautiful to both, inside and out
and your love is the only reason for this drought:
I wish I never aimed high to reach your loving hands,
'cause every time I'm an inch from you,
I keep falling into the ground.
I don't want love 'cause I know what it does,
but I can't get rid from touching the clouds of doubts:
I hate to love you, but I keep wishing you to be my guide,
and I keep on dreaming how I could say
these unutterable emotions inside.
Oct 19, 2011
Oct 19, 2011 at 6:54 PM UTC
Piercing the inner Sanctum
The trivial the less important will never even get a start into the bastion of peace and well being that is
Sacred and defended to the last breath the one irresistible caller that is never barred and who is as a
Master key is beauty to no avail can you post guards loveliness has no comparisons like spectacle in any
And all forms it governs and rules all of our hearts once seen the invitation is never with drawn like the
Vistas seen from a high mountain incomparable glory is touched sequestered in depths of appreciation
Moments of grandeur with this spell compression is ultimate the thick richness slowly sinks beyond all
Comprehension it will linger for a life time the blues are the high honor of dress befitting a person of
Rare quality to have and squander cherished gifts the emptiness can never be measured but to make
Contact with the sublime on a desert plane the one invaluable gift of solitude no pretense or frivolity
To cause error or a missed chance to speak and hear wonders undeniable voice that is attended by rare
Essences of tranquility that robes itself in splendor it beckons in pure language simplicity that astounds
Bewilderment of the highest order lodges in your soul the hush of holy beings are noticed if only by the
Assured peace that builds a walled fortress nothing can assail these attainments visited and began by
The unutterable beauty that moves with conscious and deliberate design to bestow upon you the
Perfection that once ruled in Eden
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 2:20 PM UTC
Save for the tramlines
marked seafoam white across
my forearm,
the evidence of my obsession,
my fetish
for all that has passed
remains unutterable.
And we could kiss
in a film still moment
that I play so incessantly in my head.
We could.
But it will ring.
Discordant and a lie,
our blackened lungs telling all
of the innocence we left behind.
The school bells chime,
also out of tune but
in time
with the slap of my hardened feet
on these city streets.
Oh, I could smoke
under the bottle green bridge,
adult and proper
with ash disturbed into the fibres of my jeans.
I could.
I could tempt the hand of death;
otherwise fold
under the weight of your eyes
that stare back at me
every time I close mine.
You chase me through photographs,
polygraphs.
A lie, a lie, I conjure a lie
to sleep between
to lie within
a cut of skin.
Would you marry
the middle C?
Hammer the strings
twice for yes
to meet me halfway.
For now I will hold the fort.
A thought please,
as I wait under the eaves
of the dripping tiles
for all of you to quit playing adults,
and return to me.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 5:16 PM UTC
My stronger warrior soul is confused and lost
Longing to be free from the visit of unpleasant thoughts
For five years, I was a wanderer between the glorious light and the evil of darkness
Which seldom renders me adrift but often empty and frightened
I would only try to dismiss the spell, the fight
Then battle to find my soul and to restore my heart
At length, amidst these giant storms and misery
Never would my tongue reveal my real unutterable agony
But the memories of the past became too haunting, more violent
And now I’m at the edge of the dark and eternal uncertainty
For sometime, I continued to believe that the nightmare was gone
That my visions were blessed with joy, and my dreams were untroubled
Suddenly, I awoke with the same frightful dream as before
The devil visited me again in my hours of sleep
Where did he get his powers and permission to torture me?
I contemplated one more time and realized
I understood why I dread my dreary destiny
I have not completely forgiven the devil for what he has done to me
So now to release myself from the chain of pain
and suffering
I’m breaking free from the sweet revenge I daily seek
As I command my wings to flee from hell and whisper my forgiveness
I heard a hymn from my guardian angel’s melodic voice
A wonderful prayer for my deliverance
Jun 2, 2019
Jun 2, 2019 at 12:49 PM UTC
In here a groan rises as a mist,
a guttural prayer
in coughed blood.
The candlelight whispers
an unutterable secret
on every rafter.
Heaving over
his leaden spine
he wonders when does death become
something breathtaking.
And not a voyage back somewhere he knows,
as he thinks
to a picture
of England
that bore him a son and wife
And every Friday night at the Red Lion
And darts and a pint.
And his rifle.
He saw god once in his child
and once in a French field hospital
as a man with metal red spit
lain on his back.
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 9:16 AM UTC
vertigo hallway
I make my
way down
tilt-a-whirl dark
hallways
eyes of persons
in paintings
following
my trek
through the dark.
and I hear it--
I've gone
in search
of its source
as it
sounds in the blackness of
dead time
and I see
no mouth making
any noise
as I spiral through ennui
I reach a threshold
disoriented & lost, now,
I die with the dark
and yet,
I still hear them
through the snaps
and crackles
and drafts
of a quiet nightly home
clearer than a bell,
I hear
whispers
from the dark
I'm telling you -
almost like a
shadow
leaning up-close
to my ear
faintly drawling,
in some unutterable
alien muffled tongue
maddened by noise
I continue
Determined to
source this phenomena
I always end in the same
room
and as a
metal gate
rolls shut behind
I finally realize.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 6:57 PM UTC
I cannot stand it, it weakens my core, it stifles my breath
The thought of him, forcing himself inside you
Making you whimper, unutterable sounds
Your unconditional complicity a gift, a given
Your abandon knowing no bounds
My manhood shriven
While I have dropped off the edge of your world
Your shapely limbs around him furled
And he, firmer, faster, harder, smarter, younger
Scoops up your jewels and riches with ardent hands
And hungry tongues, to burst your lungs
And all you can eats from your smouldering smorgasbord
And I don’t know him, nor where he lives
But I know he lives
And dies, and dies again in your scented garden….
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 12:56 AM UTC
Distant as the far-off maritime state,
undeniable as the endless mismatch
of rock turmoil in the centre of the Earth,
and as vital as the pound of flesh, pulp
and lung, tired bronchiole, wasted lyric,
and cancer's ever-present weight
upon your mind.
Familiar as your lover's intonation,
as she asks of the breadth of your love,
attractive as the modest celebrity,
with legs splayed in bronzed celebration
of this, her life's affirmation.
Bound as the pages of your old journal,
full of misdirected sorrow and old, old love.
Curtailed as the dance floors abandoned
at request of the lights, sugared, spilt drinks
to rot the wooden boarding, now devoted
to misery-cleaners and the bringers
of tomorrow.
Firewalled as the world is to debt.
Cardboard shop-fronts, straw-men hippies
and bent products, cash out at Christmas,
then a haemorrhage in the New Year of
old floods and foreclosures. Covered up
as is the rusted kettle to stifle flame.
Lost as flavour is to ketchup, as winter
is to hope of heat, to desire of spring
and the end of forever-night. Thin as
my wrists, as hands hold the banister,
gaining small balance in life's rare incline,
long stripped of exercise, of enterprise.
Unutterable as the soul-sounds
I feel when I pick up the guitar,
as unattainable in this life,
as is beauty once my knotted fingers
press consciously upon the strings.
A truth legacy found in blood and
distortion, found in intuitive drives,
warped by consumption. Dismissed
theory of Atlantean ties,
of old Babylon
and Reptilian lullabies.
Luring, luring, luring to distraction,
into the night and the plight,
into the absence of Arcturian light!
Keep close to me, please,
oh, feeble recollection,
please take me to truth,
in this, my meditation.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 1:59 PM UTC
I have waited in certain landlocked towns,
Near and far, and far from here.
And I have sailed and been in low ports found,
Their inlets clad in salted air.
And I have dreamed on oft spoken of starry nights and on largely unspoken starless nights,
Of select places with opportune and tactless new found faces.
And I have lain out restless and uncomfortably awake,
Hearing human voices shriek and drown,
In salt clad harbor towns,
And heard those specific siren calls of those particular siren girls,
In those inlets, salt clad by the sea.
And still awake I have heard, in those waiting-space landlocked towns,
Curiously, those curious sounds,
Of only human and yet inhumane calls.
Dressed in that specific gauze of an agony-tone,
For that specific landlocked home,
Where drinkers go,
That drunkard’s throne,
And been sullen at that once and forever shoreless drone.
And I have also been, you see, in places left unknown.
And in a daydream I would hear and be heard by almost gasping voices,
From waking and still somehow sleeping and unbelieving men.
Grasping out onto air that has been made thin and further,
Been gasping.
Searching for woefully inaccurate words,
With a woefully inarticulate tongue,
And I have danced and been set atremble by the timbre of your breathe
And then enamored by the resonance of your gasp,
And I have gasped with a tongue set dancing behind lips all aflutter.
In those unutterable places with specifically unknown locations,
I have listened,
Through rock and metal,
Between those landlocked towns and those salt clad harbors,
For the full sound escaped from your trembled lips.
And I have listened, through daydreaming mist veils,
And through known and unknown places,
For that voice that speaks through space and time and rock and metal,
And I have only heard that curious sound of human and inhuman calls,
And I have heard those particular siren calls of those specific siren girls,
And that cry of human voices that shriek and drown.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC
"Sweet, thou art young."
"So He was young
Who for my sake in silence hung
Upon the Cross with Passion wrung."
"Look, thou art fair."
"He was more fair
Than men, Who deign'd for me to wear
A visage marr'd beyond compare."
"And thou hast riches."
"Daily bread:
All else is His: Who, living, dead,
For me lack'd where to lay His Head."
"And life is sweet."
"It was not so
To Him, Whose Cup did overflow
With mine unutterable woe."
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An extension from my lips: a plead, so desperate.
Don't go, don't stay: stay somewhere faraway.
A trembling voice in the depth of where silence resides,
The fear of solitude, of what's left inside.
A scream unheard, unutterable,
A plead so desperate, so feeble.
Submission to the newest of moons,
Rotation of deeds, so fast, so soon.
Bloodshed or teardrops, comfort or lies: So hard to remember, so hard to decide,
Oh, the fear of solitude, of what's left inside.
Because what's unutterable will be uttered someday,
The music which alone will be faced.
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 7:52 AM UTC
From within The Spy's enfolding spire,
There emits a glint of fragile light,
Revealing an unreachable, mist-fading city—
The vivid incantation of unutterable occult rites.
Before the riptide of the shore,
Illumed by the light of his flickering flame,
The Spy collapses into his spire,
Only to emerge once again:
Now past the water's glistening edge,
Having scaled the city's sky-flung walls.
Now moving between ancient shadows,
Following the light of his vermilion flame.
Now seeking catacomb chambers
Where, among dismantled skeletal bones,
The master of the slumbering dead resides.
Jan 9, 2023
Jan 9, 2023 at 8:39 PM UTC
Home is where the heart is right?
Funny thing is,
my heart grew legs and walked right out with you.
I have no home.
I didn't have a choice
I didn't request that it leave with you
but it did
and now I feel empty.
Emptier than I should feel,
its only a heart right?
Only a muscle cramped up inside my chest?
Wrong. Its you.
I lost you.
You weren't my Romeo,
you are my Catherine and like Heathcliff, the pain of being without you is unutterable.
You have left me in this abyss,
and I'm reaching for you but you're not there to walk into my arms.
I cannot find you.
Whether you chose it or not
you grew onto my soul and became a part of me,
you are my Adam,
you form a part of the ribs that encase my lungs.
Its getting harder to breathe, I feel like my lungs are collapsing under some kind of imaginary weight.
The weight of you
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 12:41 PM UTC
Insufferable comfort
Ungovernable love
Vulnerable heart
Unutterable desire
Unspoken need.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 7:08 PM UTC
Dealing with OCD
is like losing your mind,
You can be in a room
full of people, yet all alone,
Noone can ever know
when the horrible thoughts
will come and what they will be
you just feel a buzz, a hum, a drone
in your head and you try to block it out
but like Sony Xperia apps
running in the background,
they are there, infernal
consuming the bandwidth of your soul
there is a fine line between delusion and sanity
a clutching at straws, a search for help
pleas and pleas fall not on deaf ears
but endure it you must
until it runs its course
tunnelling on, pushing you to the edge
straddling the fine line buoying
bobbing, dancing, fleeting-
drowning you in its wake as you gasp and gasp
OCD is horrible and misunderstood
why it hit me, I know not-
when it came part of me, I never agreed
I just woke up arrested, paralysed
by the most unutterable thoughts...
I suspect it happened when I met
the thin woman with the one eye-
I have known no peace since then
Paranormal paranoia rules my brain
and I am mooted, glued in the vile filth
of guilt, shame, anger, helplessness-
like a generator running on fuel,
incessant the tyres do not stop burning
alone, sometimes, I ask myself
why? why me Lord?
the cup is too heavy for me to bear
and ghouls have made my mind
an open playing field and I cant break free
at times I wake up and its gone
I smile and dress up-
try to think normally, eat and sleep
but itchy insomnia rages on my skin
beads of sweat and shaking, my mouth is dry
I am afraid, frightened and I cower
OCD is crunching my life, slowly
and sadly noone knows...they just dont know
why I say 'off' things sometimes
they suppose its the preoccupation
of a busy mind, and busy I am
wallowing, silently, stewing in the prison
it seems there is no escaping this
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 1:55 AM UTC